


Trial by Fire

by kaoruyogi



Series: Songs of the Elvhen Torch [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Cullenlingus, Dagna/Sera - Freeform, District Attorney, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gang Violence, Gangs, Iron Bull/Dorian pavus - Freeform, Murder, Narcotics, Oral Sex, Prosecution, Shameless Smut, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, defense attorney, trial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaoruyogi/pseuds/kaoruyogi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Law & Order and Thedas collide in this tale of long lost love, murder, and dancing. </p>
<p>Halise Lavellan, a hard-charging gang prosecutor with the Ferelden District Attorney's Office, transferred to the Denerim Branch with every intention of continuing her winning streak as a member of the new gang taskforce. Until she discovered she'd be sharing an office with her new colleague, and old flame, Cullen Rutherford. </p>
<p>Their torrid struggle for professionalism in the face of ancient heartbreak is exacerbated when a major gang homicide lands on their desks. Cullen and Halise must do everything in their power to lock up a notorious shotcaller, and stay alive while doing it. The old flame also threatens to reignite and consume both of them...and they just might let it.</p>
<p>(Halise's name is pronounced "Hah-Lee-Say")</p>
<p>***THIS WORK IS CURRENTLY ON HIATUS***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this modern AU! As with ["The Lion By Torchlight,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7539643) there will be music used and linked in certain places throughout the story. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> In the prologue, the terms "1L" and "2L" refer to the first and second years of law school, which typically takes three years, or four if done part time (like I did).

“Can I please have a grande, _iced_ , _decaf_ , _soy_ , caramel macchiato?” She spoke deliberately but kindly to the barista at Signing Maiden Coffee. She was there most days, but this was a new barista, and she had allergies. She terminated her order with a wide grin to put the young man at ease.

He picked up the cup and wrote down her order under her watchful gaze. Looked right from her angle. “Oookay,” he said as he put the finishing touches on the clear plastic with his sharpie. “Name?”

She smiled again. “Halise.” She swiped her card before carefully gathering up her large books and pressing them to her chest, balancing them so as not to jostle the laptop contained in the messenger bag wrapped over her right shoulder, or dislodge the heavy purse draped over the left one.

As she stood at the far end of the counter, waiting for her coffee, she noticed a rather handsome blonde man waiting in line to place his order. He had loose curls hanging from the front of his golden hair, most of the rest of it having been slicked back. She couldn’t really see his eyes from his profile because the black temples of his glasses blocked them from her view. A slim scar crept up from his upper lip to the side of his nose, not marring his face, but accentuating his features. A light smattering of dark stubble passed across his jawline. A gray cotton tee shirt settled flatteringly on his muscular frame, and blue jeans that were tight in all the right places hung from his hips. A black messenger bag hung over his shoulder, and he wore black slip-on hiking shoes—even his feet were clad well!

Halise swallowed thickly as she stared unabashedly at him. She realized with a start that she was feeling especially frumpy and uncharacteristically hipster-y that day. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, just foundation and black mascara. The top of her waist-long curly-wavy red hair was covered by a baggy blue beanie she’d crocheted herself. It sat far back on her head, behind the part of her straightened fringe and her pointed ears, dangling to the top of her back. Her teal Rick and Morty “Get Your Shit Together,” tee shirt was rumpled and wrinkled under the Kevlar strap on her bag where it sat between her breasts, which were a bit squished under the eight-pound and four-pound weights of her Ferelden Constitutional Law and Ferelden Evidence books, respectively. The skinny jeans perched on her hips had sagged while she stood, so she pulled them up in a fit of self-consciousness. She wore black flip flop sandals, exposing the blue glitter polished toes on her left foot, and the shockingly pink polished toes on her right.

She was jarred from her thoughts by what she could only assume was a butchered version of her name being called. “Hoh-lee-sah?” the familiar woman shouted from the counter. Halise winced with her whole face at the sound, both the volume and the words associated with the mispronunciation were equally cringeworthy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the handsome blonde look to see who would pick up the beverage—who had such a ridiculous name. Grimace stuck to her face, she approached to grab her beverage and flee.

“Oh shit, Halise, I’m sorry about that,” the blonde dwarven barista said apologetically. “New guy can’t seem to spell an Elvhen name to save his poor little life.”

“Eh, shit happens, Brenna. It’s okay.” Halise snatched up the drink with her only free hand, lifting it in Brenna’s direction before walking out the glass door of the shop.

She stepped to the side to allow others out while she dug into her purse with the two fingers not holding the cup, drawing out her oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses and pushing them onto her face. Glad her embarrassment had ended, she began to walk back to her car. After rounding the corner on the side of the building, she brought the straw to her lips and took her first sip of the drink. The taste of coffee, chocolate, and cinnamon filled her mouth before she leaned over to spit the liquid onto the ground with a disgusted grunt. The chocolate would have been okay, but she was allergic to cinnamon.

Frustrated by the progression of an already mediocre day, she turned on her heel to go back into the shop for the correct drink. Watching the pavement as she walked, she sped around the corner of the building, nearly clipping the structure with her shoulder. A wall of muscle collided with her books and her incorrectly prepared coffee, sending both flying. The books landed on her unprotected toes, and the drink landed on the gray shirt of the man she crashed into. Gray shirt?

She shouted and squeaked from the pain of the massive hardcover books crushing her toes, hobbling back and resting her hand against the off-white stucco side of the building. “Ow ow owww! Fuck! Shitfuck!”

Grasping at her toes, she hissed with a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see who she’d crashed into. A tall handsome blonde man looked down at her in stunned silence. Him. Her eyes widened as she came to the realization.

“Creators! I’m so sorry!” she cried, standing up straight for a moment before instinctively reaching out and touching the stained fabric. The moment she felt his hard abdominal muscles under the soaked cloth, she ripped her hand back away from him. “Shit! I-I—Sorry!”

Blood rushed up her neck, across her cheeks, and over the tips of her ears. This day had gone from mediocre to outright bad in the span of less than three minutes. Frumpy-looking, getting called weird names, getting the wrong drink, getting wounded by massive law school books, and making an ass out of herself in front of a hot guy. So stupid!

The fingers of both of her hands drew up over her mouth as she closed her eyes under her dark glasses. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, voice muffled by her hands. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s okay,” he finally replied, “neither was I.” His voice was lovely. A Ferelden born and bred. He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

Halise tentatively opened her eyes and dropped her hands back to her sides. She looked up into his eyes. They were a unique shade of amber, unintentionally boring into hers through her sunglasses—unique themselves with their fluorescent green irises and bright yellow rings around the pupils. The scar over his lip curved with the mild smirk on his face. Halise chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, brow creased as she shrugged and smiled back.

They both started to crouch for her books, fortunately far enough from each other that their heads avoided a potentially catastrophic second collision. He reached her Constitutional Law book first, picking it up to examine it before handing it back to her.

“Con Law, huh? 2L?” he asked, glancing back up at her.

Ha. Of course he would know. “Yeah,” she replied. “Because Torts, Contracts, Property, Legal Writing, and Civil Procedure weren’t bad enough to scare me away after 1L year.” They shared a laugh while she took her book from his outstretched hand and picked the Evidence book up off of the ground.

“Me too,” he murmured, his hand sliding around to the back of his neck as his eyes shot down briefly to the pavement. A nervous habit, maybe?

“Ah ha, a fellow student of the law,” she said with a tone of sarcastic prestigiousness as they stood, still facing each other while Halise clutched her books back against her chest. “I haven’t seen you at D.U.S.L. before.” She pronounced it like “doosel,” the acronym for Denerim University School of Law.

“That would be because I’m over at South Reach Law.” His smirk grew into a full, toothy grin.

At that, Halise raised an eyebrow. She waved her finger back and forth between them as she mused, “Rankings twins.”

He chuckled lightly, obviously understanding that she meant that both of their schools jumped back and forth between the number one and number two spots in the annual national law school rankings. “Unfortunately, currently in second place,” he said, putting one hand over his heart, feigning injury.

She put a hand on his broad shoulder, as if they had been friends for years. “Aw, poor baby! Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you’ll bounce back. After we graduate.” They shared another loud laugh. Both seemed to have forgotten the large coffee stain on his shirt and her possibly broken middle toe.

“Ooh, ouch! At least I know we’ll be beating your mock trial team this year.”

“Pfft! Fat chance! It just so happens I’m first chair on our mock trial team,” she preened. “And I’ll have you know that _I_ am amazing at that shit.” She gave a mocking little curtsey, holding out her invisible dress and bending her knee behind her.

“So we have more in common than I thought! I also happen to be first chair, and I also happen to be amazing at that shit,” he retorted, bowing in front of her.

Halise pursed her lips, failing miserably at hiding her smile. “Oh, it’s on now! Would opposing counsel care to introduce himself before I thrash his ass at the next competition?” She held out her hand.

He raised an eyebrow before grasping her hand in his much larger one. “Cullen Rutherford. And may I ask who I am preparing to decimate?”

Something about that sent warmth low into her. “Halise Lavellan. And I’ll be the one doing the decimating.”

Their hands lingered together for a moment longer than their handshake, the two of them gazing at each other. She couldn’t tell if he was sizing her up or checking her out, knowing all the while she was doing both to him. When he did let go of her hand, she drew it back slowly, crossing her arms over her books and clutching at the spines with her still-warm fingers.

“As it stands,” he began, breaking the silence between them, “I think I owe you another coffee.”

Halise took off her sunglasses, folding them before dropping them into her open purse. His smile grew at the unfettered sight of her eyes, causing her to mirror his beaming façade. She pointed to the stain on his abdomen, drawing his gaze back down. “And I owe you a shirt,” she replied.

“What, this?” He pulled the hem of the shirt away from his body, examining the stain. “This will wash out, no problem. But your sugar fix won’t fix itself.”

Sugar. Not caffeine. “You noticed it was decaf?” She cocked her head in surprise.

“How could I not? You ordered it so decisively.”

“Ohh, so you were listening, then?” She nodded her head slowly, voice incredulous.

“I couldn’t help it! There you were, this fidgeting mass of bright red curls and bright blue clothes, standing right in front of me, looking as overburdened as I feel. I had to know how you took your coffee. I can’t explain it, I just had to know.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, looking away from her.

She didn’t know how to feel, but her instincts told her. “I’m…flattered, I guess? But since you took such care in listening to my order, and since we are law students, _and_ since I want to see how well you can remember things so I can trip you up at mock trial, I’d like to take you up on your offer. That is, if you don’t have to get back to South Reach for a little while.”

Cullen looked back up to her, hope in his eyes, if she wasn’t mistaken. “Really? No. I came out for the day, so I don’t have to be back for a good long while. Really?” He crooked his arm, watching and waiting for her next move.

Halise chewed on the inside of her lip again, then shifted the weight of her books. Lacing her newly freed arm in his, she replied, “Lead the way then, counsellor.”

They both smiled widely at each other before walking arm in arm back into the coffee shop. Not such a bad day, after all.

*****


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to our first time jump! Though most of the time we'll be in the future/present, we'll be hopping back to law school here and there, and I may not warn you next time. ^_~

Halise chewed on the inside of her lip, tapping at the side of her thigh with her index finger while she waited to walk through the metal detector at the Central Branch Superior Court of Ferelden in Denerim. It was her first day there. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already been a Deputy District Attorney for more than six years, but she’d been at the same office in Redcliffe that whole time. The same office with the same judges and the same public defenders and, half the time, the same defendants.

But her boss, Deshanna, said a new task force was being formed in the capital at the Central Branch office—Skyhold, everyone called it—and that Halise was being recruited by the head of the office, Cassandra Pentaghast. Halise had been prosecuting gang crimes for a couple of years, and had built up a pretty impressive 98% conviction rate in her time at Redcliffe. She supposed that was what put her name in the conversation about who to add to the new Gang Unit at Skyhold.

Didn’t make her any less nervous about starting at a new office. She’d gotten comfortable with the routine at Redcliffe. Built up a good rapport with everyone in the office, and with the public defenders. It made working the court and getting pleas easier. Now, she would have to start over—get to know an almost entirely new group of people. Almost entirely new.

“Ey. Quit tapping your leg. You think people can’t see you but they can and it looks weird,” Sera chided from behind her in the line. Halise sighed and thanked Mythal that she’d been allowed to bring her investigator—and best friend—with her.

She glanced back at the blonde elf with an apologetic grin. “I’m just nervous,” she replied. “The whole ‘new office, new life’ thing is all a little overwhelming. Do I look okay?”

She thought she’d let everyone get accustomed to her colorful style slowly, so she wore a teal button-down oxford shirt under a tailored navy peplum jacket and matching pencil skirt. She always entered the courthouse in her day’s “court shoes”—even though she kept flats in her bag for the office—and today they were red round-toed patent stilettos that sent her towering over most of the others buzzing around her. Aside from her straight fringe, her still waist long spiraled red hair was drawn up into a ponytail on the back of her head, and she’d made sure her makeup was done neatly that morning.

“Hottest one in the room,” Sera smirked. As an investigator, she wasn’t quite held to the same dress code. Investigators were supposed to wear suits, but their need to work with people who didn’t left a lot of wiggle room for them. Sera favored the ultra-casual, choosing to wear a burgundy V-neck tee shirt, “boyfriend cut” loose jeans with her DA’s Investigator badge and holstered 9 mm Beretta clipped over her hip, and old school black and white Chucks. She wore her blonde hair in a tousled bob with a _very_ texturized fringe.

“Look who’s talking,” Halise replied, mirroring Sera’s expression.

Finally, she stepped through the metal detector and picked up her gray leather tote bag off of the x-ray conveyor belt. The weight of the bag with her laptop and all of her things inside grounded her. She took a deep breath before striding over to the elevator and pushing the little up arrow.

Sera sidled up next to her and bumped her hip into Halise’s thigh. “It’ll be fine. Even if it’s not, piss on them for not liking you! Who cares? Ooh Inquisition, so cool, ooh! Pfft! Anyway, don’t forget Dorian transferred here, too. Even if it was only to shack up with that biiiig Qunari fiancé of his.”

It was true. Dorian Pavus, who had been working with her the whole time she was at Redcliffe had transferred at the same time she did. His fiancé, Iron Bull—incidentally just a big teddy bear—was a bailiff at Skyhold. When they got engaged, they decided to move in together to stop doing the long-distance thing while they planned their wedding. So, true, at least Halise already knew a couple of the people at Skyhold.

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was all too short, and Halise was still nervous when she used her new ID card to open the door to the office. She and Sera walked down the very taupe corridor, Halise’s heels clicking on the shiny tile floor, making a beeline for Ms. Pentaghast’s office at the end of the hall. Halise’s stomach knotted up with every step. _Just make a good first impression,_ she thought over and over.

The office door was open. A woman with short dark hair, angular features, and a scar across her cheek leaned over the desk, writing in one of several large files there. Halise gently rapped on the open door, smiling warmly when Ms. Pentaghast looked up at her. “Hey there,” she said as friendly as she could. “I’m Halise Lavellan, the new gang prosecutor.”

“Oh, yes. Come in and have a seat,” the dark-haired woman said, waving Halise and Sera into the office while she closed and moved the files from in front of her and stood with her hand outstretched. Her navy pantsuit was very well tailored, fitting her exactly as it should.

Halise grasped her new boss’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Ms. Pentaghast.”

“You too. Please, call me Cassandra,” she replied, a soft smile curling her lips.

“Okay.” Halise grinned harder before she stepped to the side to make room for Sera. “This is Sera, my investigator.”

“How’s it going?” Sera said, shaking Cassandra’s hand.

“I’m well, thank you.”

All of them sat around Cassandra’s desk for the brief routine talk about the basics of the office. Nothing too different from Redcliffe. Halise’s primary caseload would be gang related, but she would also prosecute non-specialty felonies like non-gang homicides and burglaries. Pretty standard stuff for Ferelden. Sera would likewise work mostly gang cases, and mostly for Halise, but might be repurposed according to the needs of the office. Standard.

Then Cassandra stood to give them a tour of the office and introduce them to anyone who happened to be in that early. Halise was not one for late arrivals on the first day, so she’d imagined that not everyone would be in yet. Dorian most certainly wasn’t.

“Is it true that people around here call this office the ‘Inquisition?’” Halise asked casually as they stepped out of the office. She’d heard the term more than once at her going away party in Redcliffe.

Cassandra scoffed. “Yes. It’s a nickname people seem to have come up with. We have one of the highest conviction rates in Ferelden, and I suppose some people find that…intimidating,” she scowled. “I assure you, though, we also refuse to over-prosecute or try any case for which we have insufficient evidence. Our filing DA is very diligent, and you’ll rarely see an incorrectly charged case come through the office.”

“Hence the conviction rate,” Halise smiled, happy she could trust the people working with her to keep the same standards she’d sworn to uphold.

“Yeah, hence!” Sera chimed in. Halise laughed easily, but it seemed Cassandra hadn’t seen that movie. She just raised an eyebrow almost amusedly at her new employees as they walked.

The first office down the hall from Cassandra’s housed the Special Victims prosecutors, who both happened to be at their desks already. The offices were set up with the desks across the room from each other, facing one another. On the side of the room closest to the door sat a strawberry blonde-haired dwarf. His suit was a mid-tone gray, not quite contrasted against his white shirt, though his red and gold tie stood out boldly.

“Varric,” Cassandra said, tearing his eyes away from his monitor. He turned toward Halise and smirked, but not rudely, it seemed like that was just his way of smiling. “Halise and Sera, I would like to introduce you to Varric Tethras, one of the top special victims prosecutors in the country.”

The dwarf chuckled heartily. “I don’t know about all that, but pleased to meet you all the same.” They all shook hands. Varric had a pretty firm handshake.

“Hi, I’m Halise Lavellan. New gang prosecutor,” Halise announced, hoping the young blonde man across the room heard too. He looked astonishingly young for a specialized prosecutor, shrouded in an almost completely misty gray suit and shirt. He didn’t have a tie on, though a light blue one sat on the edge of his desk.

“This is Cole. His last name is too hard for any of us to pronounce, so we just don’t use it,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s alright. It’s very nice to meet you,” Cole said softly with a little smile as he shook their hands. It was no wonder he worked this unit. His demeanor was so calming it likely made the fragile victims he’d have to deal with feel at ease enough to talk to him and testify.

Next up was the White Collar Crimes office, where Dorian would be working. As expected, he wasn’t in there yet. The only person present was a lovely and stately olive-skinned woman wearing a gold-toned satin shirt with a layered royal blue necklace dangling from her neck under a black geometric draped blazer.

“Oh!” she cried when she looked up and saw Halise standing in the doorway, standing and striding over in her black heels. “Hello, you must be the new gang prosecutor. And you are the new investigator, no? I’m Josephine Montilyet.” Her rolling accent marked her as Antivan, but her smile marked her as a genuinely friendly person.

“Dorian’s gonna love you,” Sera grinned as she shook Josephine’s hand.

Halise giggled a bit. “She’s right. Your new officemate, Dorian Pavus, who incidentally should be here any minute, has a real love for stylish women. You’ve got his bases covered.”

“Oh. Well, I…” Josephine’s tone betrayed the deep misunderstanding.

“Oh, haha! No, no. We didn’t mean it like that. His fiancé works as the bailiff down in 12. Maybe you know him?” Halise smiled and raised her eyebrows.

“Ah! He’s Iron Bull’s fiancé? That’s wonderful news! I hadn’t heard they were engaged.”

“It’s very fresh,” Halise replied, leaning in as if it was some big piece of gossip. “Just don’t be surprised when Dorian shows off his ring.” She twinkled the fingers on her left hand.

After meeting Josephine, they rounded the corner of the squarely laid out office. Next to the kitchen, in a smaller room in the back that was filled to bursting with books and files, Halise and Sera met with an elf named Solas, the filing prosecutor and research attorney. He was friendly, though a bit aloof. His dark brown suit was nice, if a touch old fashioned. Halise mentioned that she’d already heard about his diligence when they shook hands, and he gave her what she believed was probably an uncharacteristically warm smile.

Around the next corner was Sera’s office, which she shared with a lanky redhead with a stacked bob haircut, lavender shirt, and well cut gray pantsuit. Cassandra introduced the head investigator as Leliana Nightingale, who was Orlesian from the sound of her greeting. She eyed Halise briefly before giving a coy smile. Something about her told Halise that she was quite good at her job.

Sera stayed behind to set up her desk, knowing that Halise’s office was just next door. When Halise and Cassandra approached the door, the elf poked her head in only to find the room empty. Whoever her officemate was, he or she was definitely already in. The computer was on, files already open on the desk, and a brown leather satchel sat open on the side of the rolling chair. Probably a he.

Cassandra still stood by her side, but she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Very male footsteps. Halise turned to see who the steady walk belonged to, and her eyes fell upon a tall blonde man with a coffee mug in his hand and a rakish scar over his lip. Her mouth fell open into an incredulous grin.

“Cullen. Fucking. Rutherford,” she said loudly.

Cullen almost stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her, obviously realizing who she was without a second glance. A slow smile curled his lips, curving that damn attractive scar as he continued his walk toward her. “I hope you remember that’s not my middle name!” he called out.

“It is today!!!” Halise laughed, reaching out to grasp his hand. He looked good in his slim fit black suit, white shirt, and red tie. Almost too good.

He grabbed her hand to shake it, and she felt his same slightly rough skin against hers. All at once, a thousand tiny memories came flooding back into her mind, nearly sending a flush up her cheeks. She almost didn’t realize that she’d held onto his hand for just a moment too long. His amber eyes gazed into hers, little crinkles in the corners from his wide smile and the seven years since they’d seen each other last. The miniscule wrinkles only served to make him more attractive. Damnit. Also, no glasses?

“You two know each other?” Cassandra asked, obviously a bit surprised.

“Yeah,” Halise replied, still looking at Cullen. “I used to kick his ass at mock trial during law school!”

Cullen grimaced, his smile intact. “It was only a couple of times, Halise.”

“I still kicked your ass!” Halise snickered, trying very hard to ignore what she was leaving out. Despite her best efforts, the thoughts crept back into the front of her mind. _He’s also been inside me. More than once. More than more than once._

_Oh shit._

*****

 _Oh shit,_ Cullen thought. Halise looked just as beautiful as she had last time he’d seen her. It was before the bar exam, so it must have been almost seven years since he’d laid eyes on her. She’d barely changed a bit in all that time.

It wasn’t as if they’d had a falling out. In fact, they hadn’t had enough time to have a falling out. Between the last finals of law school, bar prep, clerkships, and the distance, things had just sort of dissipated. Fizzled. He’d regretted it for a while—longer than he’d like to admit, really—but enough time had passed that he moved on, even without closure.

Cassandra’s next words wrenched him out of his reminiscent state like a slap in the face. “—new officemate.”

“What?” he and Halise asked, almost in unison.

“Halise is the new gang prosecutor I brought over from the Redcliffe office. You knew she was coming,” Cassandra said, irritation tinging her voice as she crossed her arms.

“I did,” Cullen replied. “I just didn’t know it was Halise. I’m a bit surprised, that’s all.” He hoped his voice didn’t give Halise the impression he was disappointed. It was the exact opposite, as a matter of fact. He may have been a bit too excited.

Halise sighed in front of him, looking down almost pensively while she bit the inside of her lip and ran her fingers over her eyebrow. Peering up at him from under her red bangs, a little smirk crept up the left side of her mouth. “You worried I’ll shame you with my awesome skills, Cullen? Is my prosecutorial prowess so petrifying?”

He couldn’t contain the chuckle that rose from his chest at her very intentional alliteration. “Not at all. I’m actually worried I’ll trounce you right out of this office.”

She beamed at him, that same competitive glimmer in her fluorescent green eyes he’d seen all those years ago. “Fat chance.” She poked him once in the center of his chest before stepping around him to get into their office. Their office. They would be working less than eight feet from each other.

Cassandra was still glaring at him. “It will be fine. We’re fine,” he reassured her quietly.

She made a disgusted noise before leaning in close. “I need you to be. The mayor has been hounding the District Attorney for nearly a year about the gang problem. So I need the two of you on top of this. You have to work as a team, and if there are any problems with that, I need to know now.”

He shook his head firmly. “No. There are no problems.” He believed it. Well, he was pretty sure he believed it.

“Good to hear.” Cassandra turned from him to make her way back to her office, the rubbery soles of her oxfords masking the sound of her footsteps.

Cullen took a deep breath before entering his office—their office. There were no windows into the hallway, only those that faced outside, so the only way to see what Halise was up to at her desk was to enter. She’d already unpacked her laptop and started it up, and she was putting her other things out on the desk. A water bottle and a rainbow colored cup filled with pens and mechanical pencils had been set near the edge of the wooden surface. She still loved rainbow. Her red shoes must have immediately been shucked off of her feet, because her two-toned toes were visible in the space between the panel of the desk and the floor. Without looking at him, she asked, “Would you shut the door for a second?”

He complied, and with the door closed, Halise finally looked at him—really looked at him. She brought her hand up to her face, holding the glittery golden nail of her pinky finger between her teeth as she stared. Cullen recognized that look. She was trying to decide what to do. He leaned on his desk and waited.

“We’re good, right?” Halise finally asked, leaving her knuckles braced against her cheek.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” He didn’t think he was feigning ignorance, though part of him wondered if, deep down, he knew why.

“Mythal’enaste!” she sighed, relief washing over her posture. “I don’t know why not, man. You were all, ‘what?’ and I was all, ‘what?’ and it freaked me out for a second!” She chuckled and shook her head. Cullen just watched her with a smirk.

“Shut up,” she giggled before sticking her tongue out at him, prompting a laugh from him in return.

Cullen opened the door, then rounded his desk to take a seat in his chair. He stared at his work for a moment before looking back up at Halise. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured to her as she put her earbuds in.

She shot a smile at him. “You too.”

_Oh shit._

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin in earnest!
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, kudos/comments/con-crit are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Come on over to my [tumblr](kaoruyogi.tumblr.com) and talk it up with me if you'd like!


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey,” Halise called out, jerking Cullen’s attention from his work as she padded over on her bare feet. It had been just over a week since she came to Denerim, but he was already accustomed to the fact that she walked around in their office with no shoes on. She put on flats when she had to walk around the rest of the office to see Cassandra, Dorian, or Sera, and heels when she had to go to court. Cullen did his best to ignore the bareness of her lanky legs below her pencil skirts every day, hoping to settle into the amicable friendship he’d promised her instead of the misplaced yearning he seemed incapable of shaking.

“This guy’s been through here a lot,” she said, sliding a file into his hands. He opened it to see which habitual offender she was talking about. “Does he like to plead? Because I’ve got him dead to rights, and I don’t want to waste time on a trial. Too many witnesses.” She fluttered her fingers and stuck out her tongue in a little look of dismissive disgust.

Cullen recognized the name. “Yeah, he’ll probably plead. He’s a bad guy, but he’s not a total idiot.”

“Pfft, yeah, sure. That’s how he ended up getting caught so many times. _Not_ being an idiot,” she snarked as she grabbed up the file with her left hand.

That was the first time he saw it. She had a large, jagged scar on her left palm. Cullen knew a thing or two about scars, having borne several of his own for about a decade. Hers looked new, no more than six months from the wound. Red and angry.

“How’d that happen?” he asked, more concern than he liked flooding his voice as he pointed at her hand.

Halise glanced at it, her expression turning from amused to dismayed faster than Cullen could blink. Her jaw clenched and unclenched before she swallowed thickly. She pursed her lips and sighed, eyes darting around toward the ground as if she were watching a cockroach run in circles while she decided whether to tell him or not. Finally, she looked back up at him, having decided to say, “Defendant. At Redcliffe. A few months ago,” before making to cross back over to her desk.

She was holding back. Too much. Far too much. Before he knew what he was doing, Cullen’s hand flew up, powerful fingers lacing around her wrist. A look of shock distorted her features. Realizing how brash he’d been, Cullen let her go, but stared at her severely, silently urging her to continue.

She sighed again. “A shotcaller,” she began, choosing to humor him in spite of the shattered boundary. “It was his preliminary hearing on a bunch of charges. Murder, solicitation, narcotics, sales—the works. You name it, this guy’s trying not to go down for it. Prelim alone was going to last the whole day. Anyway, I had a witness on the stand, asked a question—nothing weird, just where she was standing—and he just howled and ran at me. Knocked over his attorney and everything. He caught me in the hand with some shank the bailiff or the fifteen other deputies before him should’ve found, but I have a feeling he wasn’t trying to do much more than that.”

“What makes you think he wasn’t trying to kill you?” Cullen asked, crossing his arms skeptically over his chest.

“The way he swung at me,” she replied. She turned her hand so the back of it faced him and held it up. No scar on that side. “It didn’t even go all the way through. He had every opportunity to go for my throat, but after he sliced up my hand, he just sort of…stopped. Twisted piece of shit.” Halise’s voice went low with that as she looked away, chewing pensively on the inside of her lip with a deep crease in her brow. “Fucker was probably trying to get me to recuse or scare me into cooperating with whatever weird deal he’d cooked up. I didn’t. His public defender quit, though.”

“So, what happened?” Cullen found himself stressed and deeply unsettled at the direction of this story. He couldn’t abide men hurting women, but he especially couldn’t stand the thought of some thug hurting Halise.

“I don’t know,” Halise shrugged. “Slow wheels of justice and all. He got some new attorneys, private, of course. And they just kept pushing and pushing trial back and back until I got this transfer and had to hand the case off to someone else.”

The lack of resolution left Cullen deeply unsettled. There was still a chance this defendant of hers could get out, as they so often did when facing such a litany of charges. It could prove difficult to hold them all up if even one crumbled. If one key witness got discredited, the whole trial could end with a free scumbag. Cullen oddly found himself wondering how Halise’s father felt about all this, and looked up to ask.

He’d apparently been silent for too long. “It’s fine,” Halise muttered as she sauntered back toward her desk, reading the open file in her hands. Cullen stared at his computer screen to avoid watching her, an uncomfortable blend of worry, attraction, and shame swirling in his blood. She had a tendency to walk on the balls of her feet when she was barefoot, accentuating the muscular curves of her lithe calves. The dancer in her. One more thing he could add to the list of things he wished he didn’t know about her while they tried to ease back into a friendship.

In the unfocused distance of his vision, she sat back in her chair, adjusting herself so one foot tucked up, nestled under her bottom. He managed to get back to his work as she put her headphones back in and pressed a key on her laptop, presumably to start the music. Cullen was in the middle of writing up a response to a motion to drop a gang enhancement on a felon with a firearm charge. He hadn’t pursued gang prosecution just to go and do something silly like that.

He’d left his family in South Reach and come to Denerim just after law school with the promise of a job at the DA’s Office. The moment he settled in the city, allowing himself to see more than just the stinted view he’d been given during the times he’d met with Halise there, he noticed the massive disparity amongst the different neighborhoods. Denerim was a huge city, which had allowed the population to self-segregate in a way. The wealthy lived in one area, the middle class in another, and the “working class”—the poor—in yet another. The lower the average household income went, the higher the violent crime seemed to skyrocket. Sure, there were violent crimes and property crimes in the more well-off areas, but most of the violence there was domestic or family related, and the property crimes were being committed by the residents of the low income neighborhoods.

Gang activity had spiked in those areas, and had started to expand its reach. Not only were gang members killing other gang members, but they’d started killing bystanders and passersby. Children. No one was safe from becoming an unfortunate casualty of the environment. It became a fact that just being in the wrong place made life unsafe. Cullen never fancied himself an idealist, nor was he so naïve as to think he could change things alone, but he felt compelled to do something. So after a couple of years working in misdemeanors and non-violent felonies, he asked to be given more gang cases.

He learned quickly enough what it was like to talk to the victims of violent crime. It felt a bit like talking to a version of himself. His brief stint in the Templar branch of the armed forces had done no shortage of damage to his psyche. To put it bluntly, he’d seen a lot of bad shit.

The trauma of his experiences was only amplified by the fact that Templars were required to use lyrium to enhance their skills to their fullest capacity. If a man left the unit or was discharged, he was only provided with enough lyrium to taper off for about two months. Unfortunately, the substance was highly addictive. A black market had sprung up for the stuff long before Cullen had enlisted, and not just among former Templars. People had begun to use it recreationally, which only seemed to fuel more violence. Withdrawal was painful—he knew from personal experience—and people would do anything for their next fix. This gave the gangs a consistent source of income, and only begat more violence between them. More and more illegal recreational narcotics had begun pumping through the streets, fueling more assaults and killing. The cycle was a vicious one with no foreseeable end.

So no, Cullen would not be dropping the gang enhancement on a felon with a firearm charge. His responsive pleading wasn’t due for a couple of days yet, but he never liked to cut those things too close. He was almost done when a light knock drew his attention to the open door of their office.

“Hi,” Felicity chirped from her position in the doorway, drawing up a startled little smile over Cullen’s lips.

*****

Halise could just barely hear the sound of a woman’s voice over her music. She let her eyes flick away from the file in front of her and saw a tall, almost Amazonian woman standing in the doorway of their office, smiling at Cullen. The woman had shiny straight brunette tresses hanging just past her shoulders, looking very clean cut over a sleeveless black and white flowered silk shirt and black pencil skirt. Halise had only been in Denerim a week, but she was certain she would have noticed this woman if she’d seen her before.

Halise realized too late that she’d been staring. The brunette was talking to Cullen, but abruptly turned her attention to Halise with a warm smile. Her mouth moved, though any sounds she made were being drowned out by Halise’s music. The elf removed one of her earbuds with a weak tug of her finger, catching only, “—about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Halise replied, chagrined at having been caught staring on top of missing nearly everything the woman was saying to her. “I totally missed pretty much all of that.” She was sliding her court heels on under the desk as discreetly as possible, grinning—possibly like a madman—to distract from the movement of her feet.

“My name’s Felicity,” the brunette repeated. “You must be Halise. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Halise, shoes firmly planted on her feet, stood then and walked over to Felicity—who, positioning having apparently been quite deceptive, was surprisingly shorter—with her hand out. They shook as Halise said, “It’s very nice to meet you, Felicity. And yes, I’m Halise Lavellan. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but it’s all lies.” She tried to make her smile warmer as she shot her eyes to Cullen, who looked pale and dumbstruck and almost horrified.

He shook his head a bit before standing and walking to Felicity’s side. “I apologize. It was rude of me not to introduce you. Halise, this is Felicity Trevelyan, my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. The word hit Halise in the gut like a cinderblock, blunt and rough all at once. She felt the heavy pang of jealousy—never a good thing when meeting the girlfriend of an ex with whom one was attempting to cultivate a friendship. She didn’t quite know what she’d expected. It wasn’t as if she wanted him to pine after her for seven years and evermore thereafter while they could only be friends. But she thought he might have mentioned a girlfriend by then.

Halise kept the smile locked on her face, choosing instead to address the other, smaller surprise. “Trevelyan? As in Justice Trevelyan? Of the Ferelden Court of Appeals?”

Felicity looked sheepish as she responded. “Yeah. That’s my mom. Crusader for justice and well-known lengthy opinion-writer. Not exactly my path, but it helped when I was applying for law schools.”

“Not your path? But you _are_ a lawyer. What do you practice?” Halise was now genuinely curious.

“Corporate tax law.”

Halise leaned back a bit, eyes widening. “Woah. Oof. That sounds…” _Don’t say boring. Don’t say boring. Don’t say boring._

“Boring, right?” Felicity laughed a little, a pleasant sound. “That’s what most people say anyway. It suits me though. Head for numbers and obscure loopholes.” She tapped her fingers against her temple.

“Hey, that’s what matters, right? At least you’ve found your calling. I knew a lot of people in law school who just couldn’t figure out what kind of law they wanted to practice. I must know at least a dozen general practitioners out of my graduating class alone! And I bet the money’s not too shabby, either.”

Halise was deliberately ignoring Cullen as they chatted, who stood silently next to Felicity with his hands in his pockets. His face was almost unreadable, but his wide amber eyes betrayed him. He looked absolutely terrified, which led Halise to believe that he may not have told Felicity quite as much as she thought she knew about them.

“So how did you two meet?” Halise asked innocently. Felicity snaked her arm through Cullen’s and grasped his bicep with her other hand. Some subtle possessive tactics are much less subtle than others. _Don’t worry, kiddo,_ Halise thought, _I’m no threat. Just look at you._ Still, Halise’s stomach lurched a bit at the sight.

“It was a couple months ago at the park. I was on my phone and walked onto the pathway without paying _any_ attention. Cullen was running and slammed right into me!” Felicity laughed. “One of my heels snapped, but both of us were fine. I asked him out almost the second we were standing again.” She squeezed his arm again, prompting a tense, close-lipped smile to spread over Cullen’s lips. “Then I made him take me to buy some new shoes.”

“He was always good at bumping into women,” Halise blurted. _Oh fuck._ Cullen’s eyes went coin-sized at her colossal fuckup. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck! Backpedal!_ “I watched him practically slam into his mock trial partner once while he was reading over his questions before competition.” She laughed. Or she tried to laugh. _Please don’t realize what I really meant,_ she pled internally.

Felicity, mercifully, chuckled and swatted Cullen’s arm lightly. “He must be clumsier than I realized. In any case,” she turned her gaze and angled her body toward him, “I was thinking we could get some lunch?”

Halise quickly realized that their discussion of lunch options signaled the end of her part in the conversation, and turned to scurry back to her chair. She snatched up her phone on the way, nimble fingers dancing over the keys as she typed out a text to Dorian. He knew the details of the whole sordid thing, including how she still felt.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=mc9260)

No sooner did she hit send on the final message than she heard a little _ding_ outside of her office door. Shit that Vint was fast. He practically sashayed into the room, letting an obviously fake look of pleasant surprise wash over his face.

“Oh!” he cried, sending Cullen and Felicity spinning to see him. “Here I was, coming to ask if my darling Halise wanted to grab some lunch, and instead I find our lovely Mr. Rutherford in the arms of a vision!”

Halise glared, shooting as many daggers, arrows, and whatever other projectiles she could dream up into the olive-skinned man as time allowed. He arched a brow and smirked over Felicity’s shoulder, and Halise gagged eggageratedly at him, only causing his smirk to widen into a full grin as he launched into some getting-to-know-you routine he’d cooked up over too many years in the diplomatic halls of Tevinter. With a senator for a father, Dorian had caused a massive scandal in Tevinter’s version of a parliament or congress when he immigrated to Ferelden. Halise could barely understand why he’d picked this country, though. He complained about poor Ferelden fashion sense and taste buds and weather more than anyone she knew.

Clearly satisfied with the amount of charm he’d smothered Felicity with, Dorian slipped past her shoulder with a flourish, making his way to Halise’s desk. He leaned in lasciviously close to her ear and whispered, “I really meant what I said about lunch.”

A bright flush spread over Felicity’s face as the brunette saw Dorian’s lips graze Halise’s pointed ear. Cullen just looked like he’d swallowed a brick. The whole situation made Halise’s eyes slam shut, body shuddering with the force of the silent laughter sputtering and rolling through her.

“Sure,” she finally managed through her chuckling.

“Excellent!” Dorian shouted, laying a broad smack on the side of Halise’s desk. “Bull’s downstairs already, and do fetch Sera on your way, yes?”

“Of course,” Halise replied, trying not to look at the stunned expressions of the handsome pair near the door as the Tevinter made his way out.

“Lovely to have met you,” he purred at Felicity as he passed her.

“Oh, y-you too!” she stammered back, flinging her hand up in a desperate little wave. He’d practically turned the previously poised woman into a puddle.

 _Priceless,_ Halise thought, shaking her head while she snatched up her wallet from inside her tote to leave. _Abso-fucking-lutely priceless._ Things had gone from ordinary to painful to stressful to jovial in the span of just a few minutes, and Halise’s head felt like it might spin off her neck if she had to keep up with the twisted quick-step for much longer.

This was a very weird day.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ech...complicated.
> 
> (Also, don't worry, fair reader. I would never write a cheating Cullen. I know that's sort of a pseudo-spoiler, but I know it irks people, and it irks me too.)
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, kudos/comments/con-crit are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Come on over to my [tumblr](kaoruyogi.tumblr.com) and talk it up with me if you'd like!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! First song of the new story!!! You can listen along [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqh6ftYehTQ).

“So, who are you? Who is Cullen Rutherford?” the beautiful redhead asked with a rather grandiose gesture, as if alluding to a theatre marquis. She’d chosen to sit in the chair next to him  instead of across from him at the table inside of Singing Maiden, giving him the chance to look at her up close as she plopped her chin onto her fists and stared at him, awaiting his answer with an impish grin.

Cullen couldn’t help but smile at her. Halise. Her name was like a song. She made him nervous and put him at ease all at once. He was scared to tell her about himself, but wanted her to know everything. Never in his life had he felt so conflicted about a woman, let alone a woman he’d just met.

“Well,” he began somewhat tentatively, “my name is Cullen Stanton Rutherford—”

“I like your middle name,” Halise interrupted, still staring and smiling. Her demeanor was incredibly disarming.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, instinctively bringing his hand back to rub his neck. “I’m twenty-five years old and I’m a 2L at South Reach, which is, incidentally, also where I got my BS in criminal science with a double major in statistics.”

“What in ass?!” she interjected again.

Her unorthodox curse prompted Cullen to sputter out a laugh, nearly knocking another cup of coffee onto himself as he smacked the suddenly wobbly table. “What?” he asked.

“Statistics?! I mean…Oof! But criminal science we have in common. What happened to your two years?” She said it in such a way that it almost whizzed past him.

“My two years?”

“Yeah. You’re two years older than I am. And I know you weren’t held back. So? What happened to your two years?” Halise dropped one hand to lift her drink to her lips, never breaking her gaze as she took a sip from her straw.

This could be a difficult topic for him. “I was in the military. I joined right after high school,” he answered. He thought, for a split second, that perhaps he could leave it at that. But upon quick reflection on the conversation thus far, deigned to continue. “I was a Templar. I promoted quickly, but was discharged after being injured by the enemy.” He pointed to the scar on his lip. “This is from that. I used my GI bill and discharge payout to go to undergrad, and I’m on a full ride at South Reach.” He prayed that was a satisfactory answer, at least for now.

Halise’s brow furrowed as she scrutinized his face, her brilliant green eyes searching for something. “I’ll let you off with that vague answer for now,” she replied slowly, almost as if she’d read his mind. “I’m Halise Dianisamahl Lavellan. Twenty-three. BS in crim from Redcliffe U. Also on full scholarship at DUSL. And since I’m pretty sure I know why you want to be an attorney, I’ll tell you my reason. My dad’s a cop, and he always encouraged me to try and do right—do justice—in the best way I could. But he was also adamant that I never become a cop. So, as much as I admire him, I realized I agreed with him and went to law school instead.” She took a nonchalant sip of her drink.

“That’s very noble,” Cullen answered. Because it was.

“Yeah, yeah,” Halise replied with a dismissive wave and a smile. “So, hobbies? I know we don’t have a ton of time for them now, but you’ve gotta be doing something to stay in shape.”

“Oh?” he asked. “And what makes you think that?”

At that, she nearly spat her drink at him. She managed to swallow it down before she laughed. “Are you fucking serious? Look at you! You could probably lift seven of me!”

Cullen chuckled again. “Has anyone ever told you you have a rather foul mouth?”

“Sure. But I usually just tell them to fuck off,” she shrugged and beamed sardonically. “Anyway, answer the question! Hobbies?”

There was something about her. Like she could be anyone’s best friend. Like she didn’t care what other people thought. It was endearing. “I like to run before class. Most weekends I do Rivaini Jiu Jitsu, but I also like to read and…uh…” Should he tell her? “Maker’s breath.”

“Unless the next thing you were going to say was ‘cut people up and eat them,’ I think we’ll be okay,” Halise said. “Tell me.”

“I like to play video games,” he admitted, instantly worried he would sound unappealing. Something about men playing video games seemed to turn women off in his previous experience—however little he actually had.

Halise’s eyes widened, as did her smile. She wriggled around in her seat and flapped her hand back and forth between them. “Me too! Ooh holyshitmetoo!”

Maker, she was charming. “And what other hobbies do you have?” Cullen asked, genuinely curious and hoping, for whatever insane reason, that he would never stop learning new things about her.

She gave him a sideways glance. “Trying to distract me from my video games, huh? Alllright. Welp, I also like to read, I hate running, I like to sing, I like to do my nails—” She wiggled her fingers at him, drawing his attention to her long glittering green nails. “—I like to go shooting when I get the chance, and I dance.”

“Dance?”

“Really? That? Not the shooting?” she smirked. “Yeah, dance. I did pointe ballet when I was younger, but I grew out of the body type for that.”

“What? How did _you_ grow out of the body type for anything?” Cullen was in utter disbelief. She was slim, but curvaceous, her figure a study in anatomy he wished everyone and no one but him could learn.

Halise put both hands on her breasts, squeezing them roughly, crinkling the text on her teal shirt, and sending a jolt through Cullen’s body. Anything else he might have said died in his throat. “These,” she replied before standing and grabbing her backside with the same treatment she’d given her breasts. “And this.” She sat again, surely noticing his thick swallow. “Ballerinas are supposed to be willowy and petite, which is code for skinny with small boobs and no ass. That’s fine, though. I started modern dance after that, and it suits my personality much better. That, by the way, is what I was planning on doing when I left here the first time.”

“What?” _What?_ Her display had temporarily wiped Cullen’s mind of any sort of consciousness or comprehension.

“I go to a modern dance studio some weekends if I’ve gotten my readings done,” she responded, giving her pile of books a little pat. “My session usually starts in about a half hour.”

Cullen shook himself from his testosterone infused stupor. He hadn’t realized he was disrupting her plans. “Oh. If I’m keeping you, you should get going. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your day.” His hand flew to the back of his neck again.

She scrunched her lips to the left side of her face. “Actuallyyy…Do you want to come with me? I still owe you a shirt, and the studio allows visitors and observers. I know I just met you, like, forty-five minutes ago and this is super weird, but I pinky promise I’ll bring you back to your car after.” Her eyebrows were raised, and her wide white teeth peeked out in a hopeful smile as she hooked her pinky at him.

“Sure,” he answered far too eagerly. “I mean, if it’s not an imposition.”

“Hello? I asked you! _I_ should be the one worried about imposing! Are you sure?”

Cullen felt a grin spreading over his lips. She had no idea how sure he was. “Absolutely. But only if you let me help you carry some of that stuff out.”

She laughed. The sound thrilled him more than it should have. “Deal!”

He grabbed her messenger bag first, then picked up her stack of books and followed her out of the café toward a little blue car in the parking lot. Halise unlocked the doors, urging Cullen to put her things on the pile of clothes and books and papers and shoes in the back seat.

“Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly. “It’s messy back there.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” he chuckled.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she lowered herself into the driver’s seat. He joined her in the car, adjusting the seat by sliding it all the way back with a few loud _clicks_. She turned to him after starting the engine. “So, if you’re planning on murdering me, I know a really good place to bury my body,” she said matter-of-factly.

She had such a strange sense of humor. “Really? And where would that be?”

“Pfft! Like I would tell you! Guess you’ll just have to keep me alive to find out.” She laughed again, throwing the car into gear and leaving the parking lot. She turned on a rather interesting blend of music for the drive that flowed from singer-songwriter to upbeat EDM to blues. The eclectic blend sounded like her, everything he knew of her embodied in sound and lyrics.

The studio was just like the kind Cullen had seen in movies. Well-lit, with polished light wood floors, mirrors all along one wall, and beams everywhere. The people in the studio were less familiar. Dwarves, elves, humans, and even a Qunari were dressed in slim-fitting pants and leggings, wearing loose shirts and sports bras, like they were going to the gym or for a run. He’d thought they would all be in stockings and leotards, which really just proved how little he actually knew about the whole thing.

Halise had changed upon their arrival, now wearing a loose blue tee shirt with the neck cut out so that it hung off of one shoulder or another as she moved. Her long red curls were tied back into a ponytail, exposing bits and pieces of a dark green tattoo that swirled along between her shoulder blades. Her gray leggings were cut off in the middle of her calf, exposing her pale, well-muscled legs as she stretched and flexed. Her black slippers were the only thing that marked her intention to dance.

Cullen sat in a chair opposite the wall of mirrors, watching the stretching and warmup. About a dozen and a half asses moved around in front of him, but he could only see one. Halise glanced back at him with a little smirk on her dusky pink lips when everyone folded to put their hands flat on the floor. Her face was the only thing that managed to distract him from her body.

“Okay,” the instructor—a lean elf woman who looked like what Halise said a ballerina was supposed to look like—said loudly at the conclusion of the warmup. “We’re working on trios today. Halise, I know you guys have been working on something, and you have a guest,” she pointed at Cullen, drawing several sets of eyes toward him and making him just a little uncomfortable. “Do you want to go first?”

Halise looked at the two men sitting on either side of her, a blonde elf, who was just a bit taller than she was, and a brunette human that towered over her, both incredibly well-built. Cullen felt threatened by their appearances—the first time in his life he’d felt anything like that. He was dealing with a lot of firsts that day. Both men exchanged quiet words with Halise, the three of them nodding before she answered, “Yeah, we’ll go.”

The instructor moved toward the back of the room. Suddenly, the well-lit room went dark, a single set of lights pointed at the front of the room made it the only visible part of the space for a moment while Cullen’s eyes adjusted. Halise and the two men took up their positions. The brunette stood pressed up against Halise’s back with his hand on her shoulder, while the blonde elf held her with his hand on her upper thigh. She looked down and away from both of them, her gaze intense.

The music began. A flurry of notes ushered from a fiddle, setting the dancers into motion. Halise rocked back into the brunette, pushing the elf away gracefully until he grasped her wrists and pulled her into his arms. Their bodies tangled, his hands travelling over her with practiced steadiness and pace, whipping her around and nearly dropping her onto the ground. A man’s voice began singing to the tune as it grew more subtle.

 

_Why? Why'd you do that?_

_You shouldn't have done that_

_If I told you once, I told you three times_

_That you'll get your punishment when you_

_Show me your crimes_

_And it's not a spell or a curse you put on me_

_Or the way you make me smile so tenderly_

_How I wish it was your temper you were throwing_

_Damn you for being so easygoing_

 

The two men passed Halise back and forth, pushing and pulling her lithe body between them, lifting her into the air and rolling her over their arms and shoulders. All the while she writhed under their touch, her arms, legs, and back curving and soaring both elegantly and salaciously. They held her up, her legs outstretched, and rotated her back and forth, her pointed toes reaching for the sky with each turn.

_I thought the time would tell_

_My sins would provoke you_

_To raise, raise some hell, oh..._

_Not a chance_

_Whatever happened to fiery romance_

_How I wish it was your dishes you were throwing_

_Damn you for being so easygoing_

 

They lifted Halise over and over, her feet barely touching the ground. Her blue shirt repeatedly rucked up around her ribcage, exposing the skin of her stomach and revealing the subtly taught muscles there. Her legs splayed out before the elf laid her on the ground under his body, only for her to slide out from under him across the floor with a tug from the brunette. He raised her, her body curled into his, and threw her at the elf, who caught her coiled form for just long enough to flip her backwards. Her slim legs made a sawblade of her body, cutting through the air and Cullen’s heart simultaneously.

_Why? Why'd you do that?_

_Why'd I do what, huh?_

_Nothing. You get it? Why’d you do nothing._

_I thought the time would tell_

_My sins would provoke you_

_To raise, raise some hell, oh..._

_Don't give me that line_

_Don't try to tell me inaction is not a crime_

_Can't you see what kind of seeds you're sowing?_

_Damn you for being so easygoing_

 

Cullen licked his lips. His mouth had gone completely dry without his realizing, and his glasses threatened to fog in the sudden heat within the studio. Halise’s eyes seemed glazed over with wantonness, her lips parted as hungry hands caressed her. She spun and swayed and twisted, limbs outstretched and withdrawn with astounding grace while the two men seemed to fight over her. The elf lifted her high from behind, her back arching atop his hand as he draped her body over his shoulder. The song ended just as the brunette fell to the ground, arm reaching for Halise’s dangling, lingering, almost beckoning hand. The three of them froze that way for a moment, the entire room settling into stilled silence.

Applause and cheers erupted from Halise’s classmates. Cullen wanted to cheer, wanted to clap, but was completely awestruck. He felt his mouth hanging open and sweat beading at his forehead. Need overwhelmed him. He barely knew this woman, and wasn’t one to let lust overtake him so easily, but he wanted her. He wanted to let his hands roam over her body as her partners’ had.

But were they involved? Was that why she’d brought him here? To show him that he couldn’t have her?

He was shaken from his thoughts by the sight of Halise’s smile as she bounded over to him. He hadn’t even noticed the lights had been turned back on. She let herself fall into his lap, leaving scant inches between their faces. The little yellow rings in her eyes nearly glowed, tiny, almost invisible freckles over her cheeks moving with every little twitch of the grin growing on her lips.

“So, what’d you think?” she asked, still panting from her exertion.

Cullen rested his hand at the small of her back. He told himself it was to keep her from falling over backwards. The light dampness of her sweat might have steamed from the heat of his touch if such a thing were possible. “Maker’s breath,” was all he could muster while he devoured her features with his eyes.

“That good, huh?” she giggled, standing up once more and depriving Cullen of the feeling of her body against his. “Thanks for coming with me. We can kick rocks now if you want. I just really wanted to make sure we had that down. We’ve been working on it _forever_!”

Cullen stood, managing to grunt out a “yes” and nod. Halise pressed her lips together, eyeing him for a moment before heading for the door. She waved at everyone on their way out with a funny little twinkle of her fingers.

Back in the car, Cullen’s senses slowly started to return. Very slowly. He could smell her. Her perfume and deodorant and sweat mingled into something almost carnal. He worried for a moment that his blood might actually boil in her presence. Seeking a reprieve from his uncharacteristic desire, he rolled the window down as they drove to the store to replace the shirt he’d forgotten had been stained with coffee the entire time. He took off his glasses, letting them dangle from his forefinger and thumb as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The cool air of the Harvestmere afternoon worked as he hoped, bringing his blood down. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he breathed the fire out of his lungs in a heavy sigh.

“Sorry if I stink,” Halise murmured.

“What? Maker, no! That’s not it at all! I’m just…hot,” he replied, sliding his glasses back to their perch on his nose. It certainly wasn’t a lie.

“Yeah, the studio can get a little sweltering, I guess.” She stared ahead at the road, but one of her hands left the steering wheel, coming to rest on the console between them. Oh, how he wanted to let his fingers trace every little pathway across that bare flesh.

But if she had something going on with one of her partners—or both—he didn’t want to overstep. Perhaps she was just humoring him—being polite because she felt guilty for spilling coffee on him. He wasn’t certain how to broach the subject, though. “So…” he began slowly, “your partners are pretty…talented.” _Ugh, get it together, Rutherford_.

“Fuckin’ right?! I got lucky with those two. It can be hard to find partners for a trio that are so compatible.” Well that wasn’t really an answer to his pressing concerns.

“So…they’re compatible with you?” _What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?! Idiot!_

“Yup,” she chirped happily. “And with each other. _Very_ compatible with each other, if you catch my drift.”

“What?” Did he catch her drift? Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

“Bill and Al? They’re gay. Mostly for each other. You didn’t notice?” she asked incredulously, sparing him a quick glance.

“Bill and Al? They are not named ‘Bill and Al.’”

“Okay,” she said dumbly. “William and Alasnirelan. Better?”

Cullen actually snickered. “Yes. And no, I hadn’t noticed their…persuasions.”

“Pfft! Ha!” Halise barked. “Persuasions.”

Their ride and subsequent shopping trip went well, if Cullen dared say so himself. They conversed amicably, discussing video games and music and exchanging passing touches. He found that the back of her hand was as smooth as silk when he “accidentally” grazed her as they both reached for the same shirt. She didn’t withdraw or recoil, but let his fingertips meander over her soft skin for a blissful moment.

He tried it again in the car on their way back to the café parking lot. Halise let Cullen’s fingers travel over the back of her hand, then up and down her supple forearm. He watched as she chewed on the inside of her lip when he reached her knuckles. He could hear her breath shudder as he caressed the nearly untouched skin between her fingers. Slowly, her own nerves clearly a new variable in the equation, Halise turned her hand under his, allowing him to brush across her palm before lacing their fingers together.

Upon reaching the parking lot, Halise finally spoke, breaking the pregnant silence between them. “So, uh…which car is yours?” she murmured.

Cullen pointed to a silver SUV at the far corner of the lot. “That one.”

She parked with the driver’s side door right next to the passenger’s side of his SUV and made to exit. If Cullen could have crawled out of her door with her to keep their hands locked together, he would have. He actually considered it for a split second before releasing her and exiting, swiftly making his way around to her side. He opened his back door and tossed in the School House Rock graphic tee shirt they’d selected together.

“I like you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” Halise said quietly, turning him back to her with a brush of her fingers across his bicep.

“I like you, too, Halise I-can’t-pronounce-your-middle-name Lavellan,” Cullen replied with a little smirk, eliciting a bubbling laugh from her throat.

“Hand me your phone,” she said, holding her hand out.

“What?”

“Hand me your phone,” she repeated plaintively. “Unless you want me to start digging around for it.” She smirked up at him.

“Well, now I’m not sure,” he retorted. Her not-so-threatening threat aside, he still fished his phone out of his front pocket, placing it gently into her palm.

Halise went to work, thumbs tapping lightly across the screen. “I know you’re kind of far from me way over there in South Reach,” she started, “but I’m going to text you. And you’re going to call me. And we are going to make time for this. Whatever this actually is.”

She deliberately tapped the screen once more, and a little “Wubba-lubba-dub-dub!” issued forth from the phone in her purse. They both chuckled at her text tone as she handed the phone back to him. Cullen returned it to his pocket, and the two of them lingered there for a moment without moving.

He wanted to touch her. To kiss her. To feel her body pressed against his. She’d sent him all the right signals, and even at that moment was biting the inside of her lip as she stared up at him, strikingly green eyes asking the same question he asked of himself. Would he kiss her?

Terrified out of his mind, but emboldened by the sudden feeling of her fingertips against his forearm, Cullen leaned in slowly. He watched Halise’s eyes slide shut a fraction of a second before his did, then brushed a chaste, feather light kiss across her lips. He made to withdraw, but she surged into him again, setting his body alight with the fire of her touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him into her, shattering any resolve he had left. He grasped at her waist, the sensation of her pliant flesh against his a shock to his system, not having noticed that her shirt rode up with the lift of her arms. Still, he held her—clutched her to him—taking another chance by dragging his tongue across the seam of her lips. Halise opened them to him with a little sigh, allowing their tongues to slide and dance together like her body had done earlier. Only this time, it was with him. She let him kiss her. She let his hands rove across her waist and up her back. She let him trap her body between her car and his chest. She was letting him feel this, and he worshipped her for it in those moments.

But all good things must come to an end. Halise gently pulled away from him, allowing one final kiss before she spoke. “I could do this for hours,” she murmured. “But you have a long drive ahead of you, and I don’t want you crashing because I kissed you into exhaustion.”

“Maker, I would happily crash for this kind of exhaustion,” he replied, meaning every syllable.

Halise chuckled, her body shuddering against his. “Be that as it may, I still have to whoop you up and down the courtroom at mock trial, and I won’t be able to do that if you’re dead.”

Reluctantly, Cullen let the space between their bodies grow, pulling away from her inch by inch. He leaned back against his SUV, hoping it would ground him and stop him from reaching for her again. “Alright,” he muttered. “You’re still not going to beat me, even if I’m dead. In fact, I would’ve thought you’d want the advantage.” He let a smirk creep up his lips.

Halise beamed at him and laughed loudly. “Well _now_ I kinda do!” She opened up her car door and sat back inside. Cullen gently closed the door behind her, ensconcing her away from him until she turned on the engine and rolled the window down, tiny motor humming as the glass that separated them disappeared. “You are going to call me, right?”

“I would literally have to die tonight to stop me,” he answered.

“Well don’t,” she grinned. “I don’t want to have to come to your funeral and kick your ass in front of your grieving family.”

Cullen laughed. “Can’t have that now can we?”

“Nope. So I’ll talk to you soon.” With that, Halise put her car in gear and drove slowly out of the parking lot, sparing Cullen a little wave out of her rear windshield.

He waved back, getting into his car only after she’d been out of sight for what must have been several minutes. Dusk was settling over the earth, swaths of orange and pink and blue gradating the sky in striking color. None so striking as Halise’s eyes. Cullen looked in his back seat at the shirt he’d deposited there. It would probably be a better shirt to sleep in than to wear out, and he could keep his thoughts of the woman who bought it for him close. So he did sleep in it that night, and the next, and the next.

Cullen slept in that shirt for years.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight up loooooong chapter. But hopefully worth it. ^_~ 
> 
> The lyrics used in this song were taken from the song "Why?" by Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire, which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqh6ftYehTQ). The band is defunct, but Andrew Bird is still a very talented and innovative singer and violinist, and is still making albums, so give him a try if you'd like. I absolutely love him.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, kudos/comments/con-crit are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Come on over to my [tumblr](kaoruyogi.tumblr.com) and talk it up with me if you'd like!


	5. Chapter 5

Haven had been Halise’s favorite spot for lunch, drinks, and karaoke back when she was in law school. Fortunately, despite being kind of a dive, it was still around when she came back to Denerim. Dorian was the only one out of their little lunch group that objected to the place, and it was just because he didn’t like his shoes to make that sticky sound after he left, so he was overruled rather spectacularly.

The car ride had been rather short, leaving almost no time for a post-mortem of the events in Halise and Cullen’s office with Dorian, Sera, and Bull until they reached Haven. But the moment they sat in the booth where the two Elvhen women had carved their names under the table some nine years prior, Dorian started in.

“I think you’re handling this all rather well,” he said, pretending to peruse the menu. Everybody knew he would order the chop salad and pick at everyone else’s fries.

“‘All?’ What ‘all?’ Cullen has a girlfriend he-uh-forgot to tell me about. That’s ‘all.’” Her voice had gone so high she couldn’t even believe herself.

“You’re not serious?” Sera interjected. “’S not ‘all,’ and you know it.”

“She’s right.” Now it was Bull’s turn. “Dorian filled me in when you first got here. I haven’t seen the two of you together, and I know you’re Void-bent on keeping it ‘professional’ between you two, but it sounds like there’s still something there.”

Dorian looked more than a little self-satisfied. “You see? And they weren’t even there.”

Halise’s nostrils flared. “Okay, fuck all of you, I’m hungry.” Her eyes bored into the menu so hard she couldn’t even read it, and she almost missed the glance between Dorian and Sera. Almost.

“Halise,” Dorian tried again, gentler this time, “denying how you feel isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not denying it. I’m just not talking about it.” She went from loud to muttering through clenched teeth in the span of those ten words.

“Well, that’s not healthy either.” Sera and Dorian were ganging up on her, and Bull clearly had no problem joining them. She felt their stares searing into her.

Halise’s eyes fell shut as a sigh pushed its way out of her chest. “He asked about my hand today.” She turned to Sera, pointlessly hoping not to have caused the sorrow and rage that flared over the blonde’s countenance. When she was telling Cullen what had happened, Halise had left out how personal the incident really was for her and Sera.

The mood at the table shifted as though Halise had flicked a switch with the admission. Melancholy colored Dorian’s expression, creasing his brow and the corners of his eyes. Iron Bull’s lone eye just fell to some invisible thing on the surface of the table. Sera sniffed loudly, shaking her head before asking, “What’d you tell him?”

“Bits and pieces of the truth. He doesn’t know who or why. I just told him it was a defendant in Redcliffe and that I didn’t think he wanted to kill me when he cut me up. I was vague about the charges.”

“Are you certain it’s a good idea to hide the whole truth from him?” Dorian asked softly, likely not wishing to distract from the exhaustingly awful subject matter at the heart of their discussion.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Halise replied with a little shake of her head. “It would just upset him. I didn’t come here to hurt him or make him feel like he has to defend me…or to get him wrapped up in my shit. I mean, I didn’t even know he was here for Mythal’s sake! Besides, the whole thing is moot anyway. I handed the case off to Keir before I left, and she’s a perfectly…adequate prosecutor. She shouldn’t have any trouble getting at least one charge to stick to that fucker.” She wasn’t lying. She was fairly certain Keir could manage at least one of the lesser included charges. There were certainly enough of them.

“Should be all of ‘em,” Sera muttered, arms crossed over her chest. “You still sure he didn’t have anything to do with you getting this transfer? ‘Cause it’s friggin’ convenient for him.”

“Damn sure. He wanted me on his case. I know it in my bones. He was trying to scare me or piss me off. Make me reckless or careless or sloppy so I’d screw it up, or get me to cooperate. Not like it would’ve worked. Well…the making me angry part did.” Halise meant what she’d told Cullen about the attack. That asshole hadn’t wanted to kill her, just show her he could—to make her pliable and compliant. He had no idea who he was screwing with.

“In any case,” Dorian changed the subject, his tone a bit more even than it had been only a moment ago, “you need to confront this Cullen thing head on. Clear the air. One way or another, it will be cathartic for you. Either there’s hope or there isn’t. But you clearly still have very strong feelings for the man.” He pointed at her, swirling his finger around in knowing little circles.

Halise let her head loll back with a petulant whine. “This is so stupid!” she moaned, righting herself to glare at her all too observant and correct friend. “I don’t even know where to start. There’s too much history. Too many years went by. Why do I still feel this way?!” Anger snuck up on her, surprising in the way her nails bit into her palms with the clench of her fists, leaving tiny crescents in their wake.

“It sounds like you really liked him and never got closure,” Bull answered. “Things like that will linger with people. Plus, he’s a real handsome guy.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her licentiously, bringing an infinitesimal smile and chuckle to her lips. “Must be _hard_ to look at him every day,” he smirked.

A louder giggle emanated from Halise’s throat. She had to hand it to Bull, he really knew how to lighten the mood. “Alright, fine,” she conceded. “But where do I even begin? Everything’s all swirly in my gut and my head and my heart. Nothing’s clear to me right now, so how am I supposed to talk about my feelings when I don’t know what they are?” She let the hand holding the menu drop against the table.

“Start at the start, dummy,” Sera answered nonchalantly, grabbing up a handful of the peanuts Haven still left in little bowls at every table. “You’re pissed royal he didn’t tell you about what’s-her-face, right?” She cracked a shell open, tossing the nut into her mouth and continuing as she chewed. “So start there.”

“How is it that you can go from saying something like ‘pissed royal’ to being so insightful?” Dorian asked, visibly taken aback despite having heard Sera wax philosophical on a wide range of topics, occasionally during their discussions of observations and opinions on the male-female dynamic.

Sera squinted and grinned at him. “I know people.” Her deft fingers flicked a peanut shell shard at him, nailing him right on the end of his nose. “Boom.” She made an exploding motion with her trigger hand. Iron Bull laughed. Though Dorian seemed annoyed at being pelted with peanuts, he just smirked at the blonde, filling Halise’s chest with warmth at the friendship they’d all cultivated after just being mutual acquaintances and co-workers.

But they were right, Halise needed to address the druffalo that had been hovering in the middle of the office. It kept her from focusing, which could never, ever be a good thing. She took her work too seriously for dalliances and distractions to ruin her good name and keep her from doing whatever justice she could. So after lunch, during which Dorian ate nearly all of her fries and half of Sera’s, Halise decided to approach Cullen first thing when she got back to their office.

She could see from down the hall that he was in there. Their office door was open, diffused light from the window spilling into the fluorescent-lit hallway through the doorway. Halise steadied herself with a deep breath, allowing the unwavering _click clack_ of her beige leather court heels to set the rhythm for her heartbeat.

When she stepped into the office, Cullen was already sitting at his desk. He looked up at her, a simultaneously frightened and apologetic look crossing over his handsome features. _Fucking handsome features,_ she thought to herself as she crossed the office to replace her wallet in her bag and remove her heels. Her bare feet settled on the cold tile floor, popping under the change in pressure, grounding her, and steeling her for the conversation she was about to have. She took only casual notice of the new files on her desk, indicative of an afternoon case dump, before turning to move toward Cullen’s desk.

He stood quickly, his hand flying to the back of his neck in that old nervous habit of his. Halise wished for a moment that he didn’t feel the need to stand at attention before her, old habits obviously dying hard. She had to decide how to start this all too difficult conversation. Casual? Interrogative?

“So…no Felicity?” she asked, looking around almost sarcastically. _Okay, passive aggressive, then._ “Too bad. She seems very sweet.” She did mean that last bit.

Cullen looked deflated. Almost hurt. His eyes shot down to the ground, refusing to see her as he spoke. “I’m very sorry that happened. I—I hadn’t planned—I didn’t—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you have a girlfriend, Cullen?” Halise asked, sincerely that time.

He rubbed a the back of his neck again. “I don’t really know. I’m not entirely certain I’d even thought about it. It’s all still very new with Felicity, and there hasn’t really been anyone since—” He stopped himself short. Had he been about to say that he hadn’t been with anyone since Halise?

She blinked hard and shook her head a bit. That simply wasn’t possible. “Look, I’m a big girl, and it’s been seven years since we’ve seen each other. I can handle the news that you have a girlfriend.”

Cullen finally looked at her again, pain edging his honeyed eyes. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“Okay, I’m glad we’re on the same page. While we’re on the subject, though, is there anything else you’re planning on surprising me with?” She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Not at present,” he replied, gaze unsteady and shifting.

Halise cocked her head at him and smirked, the need to lighten the heavy mood overwhelming the need to continue the discussion for a moment. “You sure? No bodies under the floorboards? You haven’t started cutting people up and eating them have you?” _Do you still want me?_

Cullen’s anguished expression gave way to a small chuckle. “I can’t. You never told me where to bury a body.”

Ordinarily, Halise would have found that hilarious. Instead her gut twisted, nauseating her for a split second. She knew instantly that she’d let her face go sour, mostly because Cullen’s easy smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Her breathing became unsteady as she attempted to comprehend her reaction, and she stepped back to her desk. Bracing her hands on the light wood, she realized it hurt. The pain hit her all at once, scattering her normally composed thought process. He’d moved on and she hadn’t. He still remembered things she’d said to him the day they met, but he’d found someone new. He didn’t need her—didn’t want her. It was a ridiculous notion in the first place.

“Are you alright?” he asked from behind her.

Halise waved a hand back toward him. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just a little stomach thing. Maybe what I ate for lunch.” She managed to turn back around, leaning her backside against the desk for support as she continued. “Listen, I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Cullen?” _Are you happy without me?_

“I—um—It’s difficult to say at the moment. It’s all still very fresh. But I think I am—happy that is.”

She smiled in a way she hoped was kind rather than wan. “That’s good. I’m glad.” She wanted to mean it so badly. Turning back to face her desk, Halise bit back the tears forming in her eyes. She looked at the ceiling, hoping to drain the little bastards back into her tear ducts. Only when she was satisfied that they were no longer a threat did she glance down at the case files on her desk.

_Motherfucker._

*****

Cullen stared at Halise’s back, feeling himself shrink like a flower in shadow in the absence of her warm attention. He’d just lied to her. Not about Felicity, not about the whole thing being new, but about being happy. The truth was he’d finally gotten lonely enough to allow himself to even consider attempting a relationship when he met Felicity. Even then, he’d been slow and reluctant. They’d only settled on calling each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” a few days before Halise had come back. He couldn’t be happy. Not in the way Halise meant. Not yet. And attempting to be was complicated by the fact that the woman he’d loved and longed for and been wounded over for something like eight years was suddenly sharing an office with him.

So he stood there, watching her calves flex as she shifted her weight from her right foot to her left. Her posture seemed to change a bit as he regarded her. She was looking down at her desk, several of her pulled back curls falling over her shoulder. It looked as though she leaned down on her hands, bending her elbows and curling her shoulders forward into an almost unnatural position. Her body seemed to tremble under the unusual contortion.

In one swift motion, without warning, Halise reached across her desk with her right hand, snatched up her plastic rainbow cup filled with pens, and hurled it across her side of the room with a grunt. The cup smashed into the painted brick wall, sending pens spewing out in every direction before clattering to the floor.

“FUCK!!!” she bellowed, pounding her fists into her desk so hard he thought it might crack. “Motherfucker!!!”

Cullen was so startled he didn’t have time to ask what was wrong before Halise grabbed a file off of her desk and turned toward him. Pure, unadulterated wrath radiated from her face and body, ragged breaths sawing in and out of her as she stormed, still barefoot, right past him and out of their office. Acting on instinct alone, he followed a couple steps behind her, peering out to watch her stomp into Leliana and Sera’s office.

The sound of a stack of paper hitting a hard surface issued forth through the still open door, a momentary silence settling deafeningly over the hallway. Sera’s voice pierced through the office, unusually shrill. “What the fuck?! How’d he do this?!”

“I don’t know!” Halise hollered in answer. “After all the—fucking—After all the bullshit he went through to have his case transferred up to Redcliffe, how the _fuck_ did he manage to get it back here?!” More slamming and banging sounds flew from the room. Then another loaded silence.

Redcliffe? One of her defendants managed to get his case transferred that distance twice? Wait. It couldn’t be the same man who stabbed her. Could it? Cullen needed to know. More than a little impulsively, he surged forward, marching purposefully toward Sera’s office. Upon reaching the open door, what he saw broke his heart.

Sera and Halise sat on the floor, leaned against Sera’s desk. Their bodies were curled and twisted into each other, huddled together in an embrace. Sera’s body shuddered, her back to Cullen, being gently stroked by Halise’s delicate hands. Effulgent green eyes looked up at him, conveying what could have been any one of a thousand emotions—or all of them. Halise’s jaw was clenched tightly, nostrils flaring with every hard breath she took. Leliana was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll kill him myself,” Sera muttered, more angrily than anything. “Gut him first. Chop off his danglebag. Then kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Halise murmured soothingly. “And I know if you were really planning to, you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Plausible deniability,” they said in unison, eliciting a little chuckle from both of them as their bodies separated and they made to stand.

Cullen felt his confusion whirl about in his mind while he stood in the doorway. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt them before, but as they stood, he needed to understand. “What’s going on?” he finally asked, more forcefully than he meant to.

Halise sighed deeply and picked up the file she’d run out of their office with. “This,” she replied, setting the manila folder in his hands. Cullen turned the file right side up, tilting his head to see the defendant’s name. “Festus,” he said aloud. As he opened the folder to examine the contents, Halise piped up again, beginning her explanation.

“Corey Festus,” she began, “A.K.A. Corypheus. A Tevinter immigrant to Ferelden with more than a few ties to the Tevinter cartels.” She sat back against Sera’s desk, arms crossed, eyes sad and angry.

“The shotcaller for the Venatori?” Cullen asked, stunned at not having even known that one of the key players in Denerim had been locked up, let alone charged with anything. “ _This_ is the defendant from Redcliffe?” Halise just nodded silently. “The one who…did _that_ to your hand?!” Cullen’s blood was up, tension and rage filling his body. He already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Halise answered quietly.

Cullen lost it. “Why didn’t you tell me he was the one who stabbed you?!” he roared. “Andraste’s ass, Halise, I could have helped you! I could have—”

“Done what, exactly?” Halise interrupted, defiance written all over her face. “You could have transferred to Redcliffe after I had to give up the case and made sure he got convicted? You could have travelled back in time and been there to stop him from cutting me? What could you have done, Cullen?”

She was right. There wasn’t anything he could have done to help her. For whatever reason, that thought infuriated him even more as Halise spoke again. “All me telling you—and mind you it’s only been a couple of hours since I didn’t—would have done is get you exactly as impotently angry as you are right now. You didn’t need to get wrapped up in my shit, Cullen.”

He shook his head at the fecklessness of her words. “I want to,” he replied without thinking. “I mean, I need to be able to help you. What kind of taskforce are we if we’re not working together?”

“Which is why I want you to be second chair for this case,” Halise said sternly, her face unreadable. “I need your help. Not just to make sure I don’t get stabbed again, though that would be nice. You’re a stellar fucking prosecutor. 97.8% career conviction rate? I mean, shit! This asshole has about a thousand charges against him, and I need help to make them all stick.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Cullen said softly.

Halise smiled a bit. “Actually, I did have to ask. You can’t just go jumping people’s cases ya dingus.” Sera snorted at that. Cullen had almost forgotten she was in the room.

The fury burning in his muscles melted away almost instantly. The familiar ease between them settled in, comforting and warm for even the briefest moment. Halise padded over to his side, her bicep brushing against his as she looked down at the open case file in his hands. The slight touch set his heart racing in his chest. She took the file gently, closing it and looking up into his eyes. It took every ounce of self-control and morality in him not to sweep her up and kiss her right there. Should he really be with Felicity if he felt this way? _Halise doesn’t need you anymore,_ he thought, attempting to slough off his emotions and ignore his quickened pulse. _She’s made that abundantly clear. Get a hold of yourself and move on._

“The thing is,” she said, “this case is more personal to me and Sera than the whole hand incident. I wasn’t bullshitting you when I said we were going after Corypheus for murder. His victim’s name is Justinia. Everyone in the neighborhood called her Divine Justinia, though. She was a local social worker who helped a _lot_ of kids get out of bad homes and out of the hood. She even adopted a few of them. Sent them off to college and everything.”

Everything slid into place when she said that. “Sera,” he almost whispered, turning to the blonde elf with new understanding. Her lips were pursed, brow furrowed and arms crossed when she looked back at him. Hate burned in her icy blue eyes. “Justinia was your adoptive mother? The one you used to visit on weekends?”

Sera just nodded and looked away rather than uttering the deluge of creative dissonance he expected. Halise spoke in her stead. “Justinia had just started working on a massive child abuse and possible human trafficking investigation in cooperation with Denerim PD and the Ferelden Bureau of Investigation. Corypheus was at the center of the whole thing, not to mention several other active investigations. I know you know he traffics lyrium, fade, and a whoooole bunch of other narcotics, but he’s very recently started distributing a new synthetic form of lyrium.”

Just the mention of lyrium set Cullen’s spine tingling. He’d been off the stuff for nearly twelve years, but the itch still came and went from time to time. The effects of even a short-term addiction were known to be lifelong. But a synthetic form of lyrium? That was a whole new kind of trouble. “What’s different about the synthetic?”

“Well, it’s red, for starters. One of the experts I was planning to hire to testify said it’s far more potent than the natural, blue stuff. It gives the user freaky strength, but the side effects are way worse, too. It causes potentially irreversible damage to the frontal lobe of the brain, eventually leading to insanity, and can cause red growths and sores on the skin. The shit’s so potent, even a slight O.D. can lead to death—a painful and messy death.” Halise was watching him carefully as she spoke. Perhaps she was looking for signs of weakness on the subject. She knew about his past, and she may have been wondering if he could manage working on a case with the kind of exposure they may get to lyrium and its users.

“It sounds serious,” was all he could really say.

Sera scoffed from the other side of the room. “Worse than serious. Serious is a quick stab-stab in a back alley. ‘Catastrophic’s’ what you’re looking for.” A way with words, as always.

His watch caught his eye for a split second, reminding him that the work day was wearing on around them. Suddenly aware of the time, Cullen remembered he had to be somewhere shortly. “I—uh—I have a meeting with a detective at the South Station.” The furthest station from the courthouse, of course. “I should be back before the end of the day, but I want to continue this discussion. We have to get started tomorrow if we’re going to beat this monster.”

“Aptly stated,” Halise said with a warmer smile than he’d seen from her since before lunch.

Cullen hurried back to their office, grabbing his satchel, but leaving his laptop on his desk. He would be back for it. And for her. Whether she needed him or not, he would be there for Halise. Whether she needed him or not, he would be by her side.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love when life just gets in the way of EVERYTHING!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very, VERY brief mention of sexual abuse and pimping.
> 
> Also, there's a song in this chapter, which you can listen along to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2EJMd7ZN7w).

Cullen’s meeting with the detective at FPD’s South Station took much longer than he had anticipated. He’d been asked to come and conduct an audit on court appearances while also educating some of the patrol officers about burgeoning issues in evolving case law. The whole exercise took hours, though he had to applaud the officers for taking the initiative to ask as many questions as they had. A few of them also stopped him on his way out to discuss their subpoenas for upcoming cases, and by the time he left, he was thoroughly exhausted.

He was certain Halise would be gone for the evening when he returned. It was nearly an hour and a half after the courtrooms closed, and ordinarily, anyone not preparing for or in the middle of a multi-count trial would have been gone the second the doors closed, if not a bit earlier. Unsurprisingly, most of the lights in the DA’s office were off, most of the doors shut and locked for the night, smaller offices awaiting their occupants’ return in the morning. The aroma of coffee and everyone’s breakfast would saturate the air, friendly and welcoming in spite of the unmitigated horrors that passed across the desks of each prosecutor.

To Cullen’s surprise, however, he heard the beginnings of music flowing from somewhere in the office. Perhaps the cleaning crew? But he’d seen them plenty of times before, and most of them listened to music with headphones on, blissfully ignorant of the merciless silence of a closed courthouse. No, this music came from one place, not a moving source. As he approached his office, he realized that the electronic notes exuded from within. One of the only lights still on poured out of the open doorway into the hall, as did the voice of the singer, and another, more familiar one.

Halise was singing along, her voice made squeaky and saccharin to mimic the vocals of the song. He rounded the door frame just as she began.

 

_I got in a fight, I was indisposed_

_I was in, despite all the wicked prose_

_But I'm only a man_

_And I do what I can_

_I got friends in high places, I get out for free_

_I got in a fight but they don't know me_

_'Cause I'm only a man_

_And I do what I can_

 

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Arrest us_

_Antiviana mobster looking so precious_

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Never more_

_You gave up being good when you declared a state of war_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can,_

_Ooh-whoa-oh_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

 

Halise and Sera danced around in the office, having shoved Halise’s desk further back toward the wall to make more room for their impromptu dance floor. Halise had changed out of her work clothes into slim, well-fitted jeans and a tee shirt the color of a ripe plum bearing the logo of a video game that had come out recently. So she still played. She caught a glimpse of him in her movement, shooting him a dazzling smile as she continued her singing and dancing. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight.

_I did something bad, maybe I was wrong_

_Sometimes people say that I'm a big time bomb_

_But I'm only a man_

_And I do what I can_

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Arrest us_

_Antiviana mobster looking so precious_

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Never more_

_You gave up being good when you declared a state of war_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can,_

_Ooh-whoa-oh_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

 

The two women bounced about the room gleefully. Sera’s signature move seemed to be a sort of shadow boxing routine mixed with something resembling the robot. It was actually not half bad. Halise, on the other hand, swayed and curved with astounding poise, despite the strident melody. Ever the epitome of grace. Her arms swung about over her head, hips undulating with the beat. Her lustrous red hair, freshly unbound, added a dimension of motion, flying about wildly as she bobbed her head and swung her body.

_Oh-whoa-oh, the fire it's alright_

_'Cause we can make 'em all go crazy_

_We can make 'em wanna die_

_Oh-whoa-oh, the fire it's alright_

_The people touch it_

_I can't touch it, even though it's mine_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh_

_I don't behave, I don't behave, oh_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can,_

_Ooh-whoa-oh_

_'Cause I'm only a man,_

_Do what I can (do what I can)_

_Are you going to the party? Are you going to the show?_

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Arrest us_

_Antiviana mobster looking so precious, uh_

_B-E-H-A-V-E_

_Never more_

_You gave up being good when you declared a state of war_

 

Sera and Halise occasionally came together in their dance, clasping hands and swinging one another in a random direction with a raucous bark of laughter. Any despondency from earlier in the day seemed a fleeting memory while they gyrated and sang, with Sera providing an extra little boost for the shouted lyrics.

Cullen, in his way, was grateful that neither of them attempted to get him to join in as he watched with his backside perched on the edge of his desk, a grin unabashedly plastered to his face. It was enough to see their mirth and hear Halise’s singing again, even if it wasn’t in her normal tone. She seemed herself again—more so than she had since she’d arrived. He silently hoped he hadn’t been the source of any distress for her. That would be worse than not seeing her at all.

As the song wound down, the two women fell into a sloppy sort of hug, panting and chuckling in their loose embrace. Halise quickly turned her joyous gaze to Cullen, dropping heat into his gut like a hot stone in a bucket of cold water as she strode over to him. Knowing a question hung in the air between them, she answered, “We like to dance it out when we’ve had a shit day. It’s a little cliché but, eh.” She shrugged.

Cullen’s grin grew wider. “Punch dancing out your rage,” he chuffed, referring to a movie he knew she loved.

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Yeah, punch dancing out my rage! Except I have no wooded glen to gallop to and _hopefully_ will not be suffering an extremely long and very painful fall.”

Overstimulated by their easy conversation and her laughter, and without thinking for just the second it would have taken to realize it was a terrible idea, Cullen said, “I miss watching you dance.”

The smile dropped right from Halise’s lips. Her eyes widened, darting across his features and searching his face for Maker-knew-what. Cullen’s hand found the back of his neck. It was too late to backpedal, too late to take it back—and he didn’t want to. It was the truth. He had missed seeing her happy—truly happy—since she came back, and when she danced it was like the world fell away around her. She seemed to be able to separate herself from her troubles and woes and just be herself.

Halise opened her mouth as if to say something, but spun her head behind her when Sera asked, “So, what’re we doing to nail Coryphy-shit?” The blonde kicked Halise’s rolling office chair over, dragging one of their spare metal and plastic chairs behind her and setting them both up in front of Cullen’s desk.

Halise’s viridescent eyes turned to him once more, her lips still parted. Cullen’s nerve quickly left him at her renewed attention, forcing him to turn his focus to the task at hand. “Well, what does your witness list look like?” he asked as he took a seat behind his desk and opened his laptop to take notes.

He watched Halise’s mouth close and her jaw clench near the lobes of her pointed ears. She sighed heavily. “I don’t know anymore. It’s been a few months, and we’d been planning to transport everyone to Redcliffe for trial. They were less scared of backlash being out of town. Now…who knows?”

“I’ll start talking at the little people first,” Sera suggested.

“Do you think you can find some of the more key witnesses?” Cullen asked the blonde. “Halise and I can meet with them personally here or at a neutral point if they would prefer.”

Sera pursed her lips. “See if my friends can sniff ‘em…”

Halise’s head whipped toward the blue-eyed elf. “Red Jenny friends?” she asked. Sera just quirked up the corner of her lips in response.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” Cullen asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The day had been too filled with twists and turns, and he was beginning to feel every sleepless moment he’d had the previous night. There had been a lot of them. There usually were.

The redhead regarded her friend warily for a moment before turning back to Cullen. “Sera’s part of some hacker collective called the Friends of Red Jenny. They’ve managed to help her get us admissible evidence for other cases, but I don’t entirely trust them with this kind of information.”

Sera scowled at both of them. “Ey! They’re little people, too. And no one little wants to help someone big get off for killing an old lady saving kids. ‘Sides, they’re not all knifey shivdark like some of Leliana’s people…all creepy sneakaround and that.”

Sera’s way of speaking was occasionally exhausting, but Cullen understood her well enough. While he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea of entrusting anything to a hacker collective with no oversight, he wanted Corypheus put away bad enough that he was willing to give it a go with Sera’s assurances. He trusted her well enough, mostly because Halise did. “You’re certain we can trust your friends?” he asked, staring at the diminutive woman in an effort to discern whether she was being honest.

Apparently, she knew that look. She simply smirked at him. “Right, well, everyone knows an arse or two, but my friends handle things. Secret network and all that. Nobody’s kept separate from nobody. Firewalls.” Her tone was devious. And _that_ was confusing.

All Cullen could do was shake his head and accept it. Halise tilted her head, scrutinizing him carefully. She had a tendency to do that when she already knew how someone felt, but was trying to think of how she should handle it. Her leer gave Cullen a sensation similar to that of a rodent being watched by a falcon. Nobody but her had ever made him feel like prey. Like she would devour him if she could. But, in a strange way, he delighted in it.

“I think we’re all waning a little,” she finally announced. “Sera, start hitting up everyone tomorrow. Cullen and I will start getting all the evidence put together cohesively. I was still missing a lot of labs and experts in Redcliffe, so we’ll start looking into those too.”

They all quietly agreed to their respective tasks and left the courthouse together after Cullen helped Halise right her desk. Before they parted ways in the parking structure, Halise gave Cullen one more assessing glance. “Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep tonight,” she murmured softly, worry edging her voice and the corners of her eyes.

He smiled at her, doing his best to assuage her concerns. “I’ll try,” he promised. Her eyes bore the telltale signs of circumspect satisfaction, but she nodded and headed to her newer model little blue car. He would try. Though, with the day’s events, sleep was very unlikely. It would probably take the whole night just to begin unravelling his feelings for Halise, let alone to decide what he should do about Felicity. So yes, he promised he would try to sleep. He would just have to lay in bed with his eyes closed while his mind raced. Promise kept.

*****

It had been nearly three weeks since they’d all sat down in the office and agreed on a plan of action. Unfortunately, that was almost all the headway they’d managed to make. A few minor witnesses had begrudgingly agreed to testify, mostly because one of Justinia’s fellow social workers, Giselle, was helping Sera galvanize people in the neighborhood. Just not the right people. Physical and documentary evidence was just starting to trickle in from Redcliffe. Fucking government bureaucracy slowed the flow of information from Halise’s old office to a crawl. On the up side, Halise _had_ managed to make a sign to hang on her office door that said “Do Not Disturb: Meeting in Progress.” _Woohoo._

Others in the office had pledged their assistance when it was needed. Dorian and Josephine agreed to go over Corypheus’s financials, as well as those of his known associates, to help demonstrate that the cash flow was textbook for traffickers. Cole and Varric, having worked with Justinia somewhat frequently, were helping contact the children and known sexual abuse and pimping victims connected to the multi-agency investigation. Cassandra exercised as much pull as she could to rush the evidence, and however fruitless it had been, Halise appreciated the effort. Solas promised to help research where necessary, and helped add-charge Corypheus for the attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and contraband charges that mysteriously hadn’t been tacked onto the case after the attack in the courtroom. Even Leliana offered some extra eyes, though she refused to say who or where they were.

Still, Halise felt like they might hit a dead end very soon if they didn’t make some headway. On the up side, she and Cullen were getting along quite well. She wouldn’t say there wasn’t still tension, but it had eased since their half conversation three weeks earlier. Her desire was still there—still strong—but Felicity swung by a few times, and they all seemed to be getting on together with whatever odd dynamic they’d settled into. Though Halise suspected it was only really odd to her. She refused to interfere with Cullen’s happiness, no matter how she felt—a position Dorian just wouldn’t stop referring to as asinine.

“This is asinine,” he would say over a glass of brandy at his and Bull’s house during dinner. “At least tell him how you feel!”

“This is asinine,” he would whisper-shout at her in his office while she peered over his shoulder at the bank statements of some hood rat who’d been putting in work for the Venatori. “At least tell him how you feel!”

“This is asinine!” he would yell at her alone in her little blue car as she drove them to lunch while Iron Bull and Sera were both still working. “At least tell him how you feel!”

“No. I won’t ruin everything he’s built for himself. I won’t wreck his happiness,” was all she would reply.

Still, she ran all of her opening and closing arguments past Cullen, and he came to watch all her one or two-count trials. There he would sit, attentive and laser focused, watching her address the jury, question and cross-examine the witnesses, and make her timely objections. It made her feel safe to have him there. Not because she’d officially been stabbed in a courtroom, but because he was a stabilizing force. Halise never had trouble in court—her conviction rate proved that much—but his continued presence fortified her.

Likewise, she sat in on many of Cullen’s trials. He was truly a sight to behold. He was forceful without being overbearing, quick and clever with his witnesses and objections. Halise had to bite the inside of her lip to avoid laughing at the female jurors who would ogle him shamelessly. That couldn’t hurt. However, watching him in court did nothing to relieve her own sexual tension. He was so sure of himself in front of a judge and jury, every move deliberate. Where Halise guided the jurors to the guilty verdict, Cullen was calculated in his attack on the defense. She’d heard people calling him “The Lion,” but never really understood it before she saw him in court. He was commanding and powerful, decisive and quick-witted, stealthy and vicious, and it was a fucking turn on. She’d developed a nasty little habit of thinking about it during some of her lonelier nights.

The morning after one such night, feeling just a little ashamed of herself, Halise arrived at the door to the DA’s office to find someone waiting. A man, probably about her age, with deep umber skin and astoundingly pale blue eyes leaned on the wall next to the door with a leather-bound book in his hand. She silently prayed that he wasn’t there to kill her before smiling warmly at him and saying, “Hi there. Can I help you with something?”

Even though he’d watched her approach, he looked a bit startled when she spoke to him. Up close, he was quite handsome, tall, and rather well-built. Something in the way he carried himself was familiar. “Uh, yes ma’am,” he answered, leaning in just close enough to churn Halise’s gut with the fear of another stabbing. “I’m looking for the DA handling the Festus case.”

Suddenly made even more wary, Halise took a step back, though her attempt to camouflage it with a smile may not have worked. The man’s brow furrowed as she asked, “Why, exactly?” She clutched the straps of her tote desperately with both hands in a vain attempt to stop them from shaking, feeling the leather against the marred flesh on her left palm.

He stood up straight, chin up, as if at military attention before her. “Lieutenant Delrin Barris, formerly of the Ferelden Templar Corps, ma’am. I want to testify against Corypheus.”

Halise’s eyes went wide for a moment. Another Templar. That explained his demeanor. He held out a hand, and she took it cautiously, stunned at the intensity of his handshake. If he was there to hurt her, he’d certainly had the opportunity already. The door to the office was near a secluded back hallway, away from the wide hall through which the courtrooms were accessible. No one would have seen him kill her if he really wanted to.

“Okay,” she said, choosing to believe him—or at the very least get inside where there were more witnesses. “Follow me.”

“Ma’am.”

Halise led Delrin through the office, making certain to verbally greet everyone along the way. Varric shot her a quizzical look when she poked her head in to say hello. She flicked her eyes to the man at her back, and the dwarf seemed to catch on. “Cullen was looking for you this morning, Torch,” he said a little louder than necessary, using the nickname that seemed to have followed her from Redcliffe. “I think he’s back in your guys’ office.”

“Great!” Halise chirped, thankful that she would have a man with a black belt in Rivaini Jiu Jitsu with her when she reached her somewhat private office.

Mercifully, Cullen smiled up at her from his desk when she walked in, his expression immediately shifting to severity upon seeing Delrin behind her. He stood, ostensibly to punctuate his size and presence, and held out his hand. “Cullen Rutherford,” he said firmly.

Barris’s whole face seemed to drop open in awe and recognition as he took Cullen’s hand. “ _The_ Cullen Rutherford?” he asked, his tone that of a superfan meeting the actor who played his favorite action hero.

“I’m not certain what you mean,” Cullen replied hesitantly, withdrawing his hand slowly.

“Ser,” he began reverently, “I’m Lieutenant Delrin Barris. I was a Templar until about a year ago—in the 2nd Assault Regiment.”

Halise watched a wave of recognition wash over Cullen’s features, followed all too quickly by anguish. She remembered what he’d told her years ago about his time as a Templar. “Ah,” he murmured, his hand flying to the back of his neck. “Then I suppose I am.”

Delrin leapt into a salute so quickly it made Halise’s body jerk with the still-lingering fear of physical harm. “Ser, it is an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Cullen looked stricken. Halise’s heart ached for him. All she wanted to do was pull him safely into her arms—to protect him from his past. But professionalism required that she keep her distance. So she set down her tote beside her desk, turning back when she heard Cullen speak again.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ser. What can I do for you today?” His expression had gone firm again, almost angry in its rigidity.

“Are you handling the Festus case, Ser?”

Cullen’s eyes twitched a bit in confusion. “No.” He led Barris’s eyes back to Halise with a gesture, and she gave a little smile and flicker of her fingers. “Ms. Lavellan is the lead prosecutor on that case, though I am assisting her.”

Halise felt her cue to speak had arrived. “So, Delrin, can you tell me what this is all about? Why haven’t I heard anything about you before today?” She crossed her arms and leaned back against her desk, taking comfort in Cullen’s presence as he moved quietly to her side. Protecting and proud, as always.

“Well ma’am, are you at all familiar with the Red Templars?” Delrin asked, the picture of military respectfulness in his posture.

“The biker gang made up of Templar vets? Vaguely. They don’t really frequent the city much, so the more rural DAs are probably more familiar than I am. But what do they have to do with Mr. Festus’s case?” Halise really hated calling him that. She preferred Sera’s nickname.

“A buddy of mine from the 2nd, guy named Denam, fell in with them after he was discharged. But he didn’t live rural. He stayed here in Denerim in the same neighborhood where Ms. Justinia was killed. He tried to get me to pledge about seven months ago, right around the time she got shot. Said something about a new deal getting brokered between the Red Templars and the Venatori—moving drugs and people—something like that.”

Halise’s gaze was fixed intently on him as he continued, watching for signs of falsehood. “But he O.D.’d a couple months ago on that new synthetic lyrium. The thing is, a few days before he died, he called me up, high as a kite and pissed as a wet cat—” Sera would love this guy. “—talking about some ‘Archdemon’ coming to get him because he knew something. I wrote it off back then—drugged out nonsense. But about a week ago, his brother knocked on my door with this.”

Barris offered her the leather-bound book she’d forgotten he was holding, giving it a little shake when she didn’t take it immediately. She grabbed the spine of the book with no plan to open it until Delrin told her what was inside. As if reading her mind, he said, “It’s Denam’s journal. His very detailed journal.”

Halise chewed on the inside of her lip, considering whether or not to open the journal. She looked up at Cullen, and they shared a supremely communicative look. Silently, she asked whether he thought the journal was legitimate. His eyes told her to take it with a grain of salt, but that they should look at it anyway. The nearly invisible nod of his head was all she needed, and she cracked open the book somewhere near the middle. She let her eyes meander over the words, turning the page to find more and more of what she was looking for. This was exactly the information they’d been searching for. This was exactly what they needed to jump start the case. She and Cullen shared another glance, both of their eyes saying the same thing.

_Holy shit._

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter... ^_^;;
> 
> Okay, so, as you may have noticed, I keep referencing movies. I'm probably going to keep doing it too, so if you want to know which films they are, let me know in the comments! The same goes for if you have any questions about some of the legal jargon I may throw in.
> 
> The lyrics used in this chapter were taken (and modified) from Grimes's song "Kill v. Maim," which you cal listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2EJMd7ZN7w) if you like. Grimes definitely fits a certain taste, but I friggin love her!!! And this song felt distinctly apropos. Give her a listen if you dig it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion of violence and drug use

Creators, she liked him so fucking much. Cullen Stanton Rutherford. He was handsome, to be sure, but that really wasn’t it. It certainly didn’t hurt, but they had so much in common, and he made Halise laugh. He was funny, sometimes intentionally, but mostly it was inherent in his manner. She obviously made him nervous, and that was deeply flattering, but there was just…something about him.

The distance between them sucked much more because of how much she liked him. After their chance meeting and sort of first date, Cullen called her almost first thing in the morning the next day. Halise had been dead asleep when her phone rang, and the rasp of her voice gave it away the moment she answered. The way he stammered his apologies for waking her and offered to call back later in the day made her blush and giggle. He was terribly sweet and charming.

Over the following month, they called, texted, and video chatted with each other on the Sending Crystal app almost every day. Cullen first met Halise’s roommate, Sera, when the latter burst into Halise’s room asking to borrow—which meant take with no intention of returning—a highlighter in the middle of their video chat. The uncouth blonde ran up behind Halise, shouting something about “the new sweets” and how she “bet he could throw you ‘round just fine” before chortling, snatching a yellow highlighter, and clamoring back out of the room.

Halise watched Cullen’s face flush bright red, a mixture of horror and amusement roiling through her as he removed his glasses and held his head in his hands. She tried to explain that her friend was an undergrad majoring in psychology and communications and that it was just sort of her way of speaking. Eventually, Cullen’s face returned to its normal pale golden color, and they began to wrap up their conversation.

“I could, though,” he said, seemingly out of left field.

“You could what?” Halise asked with a little tilt of her head.

“Throw you around. Just fine.” His voice was low and seductive, sending heat through Halise’s body and a thick swallow through her throat. All she could manage was a little squeak before he smirked, curving that wonderful scar, purred, “Good night, Halise,” and ended their session.

She was pent up for days after that. He’d pulled that shit at the beginning of the school week, leaving Halise to think about it in the moments between her terror over being cold-called in class and in her quiet nights alone. She stewed over what to do about it for four days before texting him about her decision while she wrapped up her Wills and Trusts problems.

  [ ](http://i66.tinypic.com/2vio8yb.jpg)

It didn’t take Halise very long to get far too excited. She asked if it would be alright for her to stay at his place for the night, wishing she could see his face while he agonized over how to say yes. Her body wriggled around on her bed while she waited for his answer, which came nearly ten minutes later. Apparently, Cullen had settled on a simple “Yes,” prompting Halise to overzealously pack an overnight bag more than a day in advance.

She woke much earlier than she was accustomed to the day she left to see Cullen. He’d told her his match would likely start sometime between eleven and eleven thirty, which meant that she had to leave by seven thirty to even try to get there on time with weekend vacationer traffic on the highways. She spent an hour and a half showering and getting ready and ran out the door just in time.

The thrill of seeing Cullen again—and maybe getting to find out what it was like being thrown around during sex instead of a dance that mimicked sex—bubbled up in Halise’s stomach. The bubbling might actually have been because she hadn’t eaten before embarking on her drive and refused to stop to get food, but she silenced her concerns by convincing herself there had to be some kind of food there—chips or a vending machine or something. Even so, the drive felt like an eternity, the beautiful lush scenery doing little to quell her growing anxiety. What if she’d misinterpreted what he said? What if he wanted her to sleep on the couch? What if he did want to have sex, but changed his mind when he saw her for the first time in a month?!

The anxious thoughts swirled around in Halise’s head, and she’d gotten terribly woozy by the time she finally made it to the gym where Cullen’s match was to be held. It was almost exactly eleven when she arrived, and she hoped against hope as she walked in that she would be able to embrace Cullen when she entered. Alas, the first bout had already started, and Cullen—looking unequivocally sexy in a white gi that bared just enough of his chest to make her imagination run wild—kneeled on the floor across the room from the seating. She did manage to catch his eye with a little wave as she wobbled over to an empty chair, and he returned her greeting with a rather heart-stopping grin.

Halise took a moment to scan the room for snacks, worry creeping up in the back of her mind about what happened when she waited too long to eat. _Please don’t let this woogityness be a basilar migraine,_ she thought. _Please, please, please._ That would be bad. But to her great chagrin, there wasn’t a scrap of food to be found in the entire gym.

By the time the second bout began, Halise was becoming relatively certain that her wooziness and developing tremors signaled the onset of a terrible migraine. A ten on the scary scale. The tremors and numb, tingly fingers and face had already started, which meant the distance phenomenon was not far behind. Sure enough, not five minutes later, every noise in the gym began to sound as if it was coming through a radio in her head, and her hands looked to her like they were being operated by a video game controller in a first-person shooter. Her speech would fail next, slurred and wrong like that of a stroke victim. Preemptively, she struggled against her weak and shaky hands to pull out her phone, sending a quick text to Cullen to tell him she needed to leave. A little ding sounded, but emanated from Cullen’s gym bag across the large room.

 _Fuck._ All that was left to do was pray to the Creators that this migraine didn’t end with her on the ground. It had happened before, and with how fast her condition had deteriorated by the time Cullen took to the mat, it seemed increasingly likely that it would happen again. Halise could feel her head listing as she watched what would otherwise have been an immensely arousing display of strength and flexibility. Cullen was the aggressor from the start of the match, shooting for a takedown the moment the whistle blew. His opponent twisted away after his back hit the mat, but Cullen somehow managed to use the movement to his benefit. The powerful blonde snared his adversary from behind, wrapping his legs around the helpless man’s waist, and his arms around the poor guy’s neck. Halise’s vision clouded almost empathetically.

She didn’t quite pass out, but she did go down. Her body just sort of toppled out of her blue plastic chair onto the hardwood floor not covered with a mat, eyes open and world flipping. Cullen’s voice shouted her name in the radio in her head, and she vaguely registered the hazy sight of him releasing his rival and rushing to her side. His strong arm slipped under her shoulders, pulling her to rest her head against his chest—which had been bared from the shifting of his gi during the match. _Mythal’s mercy_.

“Halise! What’s wrong?!” Halise felt terrible for the panic soaking Cullen’s voice and expression as he looked down at her. Other attendees and participants flooded in around him, emitting a cacophony of concern that was just a bit overwhelming for Halise’s sensory sensitivity.

 _Migraine,_ she thought to say. “Mufffffin,” was what came out instead, badly slurred and absolutely not the right word. _It’s okay,_ she tried to soothe herself. _Phone_.

“What?” Cullen’s eyes darted across Halise’s tingling face, no doubt searching for a way to help.

Battling against her twitching and enervated fingers, Halise managed to pull her phone out of her pocket again. She poked the little icon she’d made especially for when this happened around other people after it happened at school once. Up popped her note, and she turned the screen to Cullen with her trembling hand. He took the phone without hesitation, scanning the text quickly.

 _Don’t panic,_ the note began simply. _If you’re reading this, I’m having a basilar migraine. It probably looks and sounds something like a stroke, but it isn’t, I promise. ^_^_ She’d thought the smiley face would put people at ease. _It may have been too long since I’ve eaten today, or I may have accidentally been exposed to a trigger, but worry not. I just need to go home. Please don’t call an ambulance. They can’t do anything about this except wait it out, just like you and me. If you can, though, would you please help me get home? I probably need to eat, and definitely need to sleep. I apologize for scaring you, and for the effort you’ll have to exercise to get me home, but thank you sincerely for your help!_

Cullen’s puffed out what may have been a sigh or a sob or a laugh upon finishing reading the note. His amber eyes shot back down to her face, golden-blonde curls falling loose around his forehead. “You’re sure?” he murmured quietly. She nodded languidly, trying, but likely failing to smile.

With that, Cullen’s other arm, hand still gripping her cell phone, slid beneath her knees. He picked Halise up easily—he most certainly could lift seven of her—clutching her sagging, shaking, tired body to his chest. Someone she didn’t see grabbed her purse and Cullen’s gym bag and followed them out of the gym to Cullen’s silver SUV. They also helped him open the door and slide her into the back seat and buckle her in at her waist. Cullen vanished for a few moments, reappearing after putting some things into the back of the vehicle. His slightly rough fingers brushed across her arm as the car shuddered into life, becalming and comforting in his sublime gentleness.

“I’m taking us home,” his radio voice proclaimed, thankfully expecting no answer in return.

Sleep lulled Halise’s eyes closed, allowing them to open only when she was hauled out of Cullen’s car and carried into his apartment. She wished she could focus enough to take in the details of his home as he carried her into the bedroom, laying her back down on his memory foam mattress and tucking her in under his blankets sweetly. He disappeared again, but she was unable to stay awake long enough for his return.

When Halise woke next, her eyes were much more capable of focusing on her surroundings. Her body faced a window, artificial orange light spilling around the dark curtains conveying the nighttime hour. The walls within view were stark beige, and lacked any sort of decoration. A very square lamp rested atop a light wooden nightstand next to a clock displaying _7:23 pm_ in gentle blue LED. Thank the Creators it wasn’t too late.

A warm, slow breath snuck through her hair, coming to rest hot and damp on her neck. Halise felt the firmness of Cullen’s body up against her back. Part of his arm hung over her waist, but she soon realized that their fingers were interlocked, their hands nestled up under her chin. Her heart raced, beating so erratically she worried it might actually wake him.

Halise was nervous and excited and terrified all at once. Cullen had fallen asleep _with_ her, not next to her. Even in sleep he embraced her like a priceless trinket, precious and fragile and wanted. They’d only met in person twice, and only known each other for a month, but he made her feel invaluable. She let a sigh lift her chest, and he stirred behind her with a little groan. Her heart fluttered again.

The shift in Cullen’s breathing told her he was awake, if barely. Halise nearly sobbed from happiness when he pressed a little kiss to the back of her head and squeezed her closer to him. This was right out of a fucking romance novel! “I hope you don’t mind,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into her hair with a sigh. How could she mind? “You scared me. Are you feeling any better?”

“I—” She stopped abruptly, the small movement of speaking and the sound of her own voice bringing to bear the excruciatingly painful headache that so frequently followed her worst migraines. Like a fucked-up hangover. “I have a horrible headache,” she answered quietly.

Her stomach rumbled less than surreptitiously, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in much longer than she wanted to remember. “And I’m really hungry.”

Cullen moved a bit behind her. Without another word, she felt the caress of his soft lips on the blade of her pointed ear, sending a silent jolt of pleasure down to her core. It certainly made her headache go away for a moment. But it returned with a vengeance as he reclaimed his hand and scooted off the bed. Before Halise had a chance to protest, he was back with a glass of water and two elfrootprofen tablets resting on the hand he extended toward her.

Halise took the tablets and the glass, swallowing the pills down quickly and shooting Cullen a grateful smile. Only then did she notice his attire. He wore the School House Rock shirt she’d bought for him, and gray sweatpants hung loosely from his hips. Unkempt curls dangled over his eyebrows. She could hear her own thick swallow at the sight of him. Was there anything he could wear that wouldn’t make him an incredible sight to behold? His lips quirked up a bit, but the smirk didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I ordered some pizza,” he said softly, mindful of her hypersensitivity. “I thought it would be okay whether you like it fresh, cold, or reheated.”

Halise’s thoughts flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Mythal’enaste, how does someone so perfect even exist? Like, in real life. How are you real?”

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, almost avoiding her gaze by looking around the room. “I’m far from perfect.” The timbre of his voice was more forlorn than she expected. He finally looked back down at her as she sat up in his bed. “We missed the fresh stage of the pizza, so do you like it cold or reheated?”

Her brow knitted together a bit and she cocked her head against the twinge of her headache. He wasn’t being intentionally evasive, just vague. If she really wanted to know what was going on, she would have to ask. Her gut bubbled, interrupting her assessment. It could wait until after they ate. “Reheated,” she replied. “Molten if you can.”

Cullen’s grin did reach his eyes that time. “So you shall have it,” he said with a little bow of his head.

He returned to her a few minutes later, a blazing hot plate with two large slices of cheese pizza in hand. Halise sat with her legs crossed under his black comforter as he set the plate down in front of her and sat at her side. Cullen’s pizza was stone cold from the refrigerator, solid when he lifted it to his lips and took a bite. Halise pulled a little face. “Ah,” she murmured as if in recognition.

“What?” Cullen gave her a quizzical glance, taking another bite of his grossly cold pizza.

Halise pointed at the stiff slice in his hand. “I see why you’re not perfect. You like cold pizza.” Her tongue flicked out of her mouth as a show of her disgust before she shoved nearly half a slice of melty cheese and floppy crust into her maw.

Cullen just arched an eyebrow and squinted at her while he took a giant bite. His eyes rolled back ecstatically and a moan rumbled up from his chest. Then a smile crept up his lips as he stared at her somewhat triumphantly, cheeks chipmunked full of pizza. Fire blazed a trail from Halise’s chest to her loins. She knew he was trying to be funny, but that had been so…Creators…If it hadn’t been for the throbbing headache pulsing in her temples and the slight nausea she was staving off by eating, she would have pounced on him then and there.

She must have looked strange, because Cullen’s smugness faded into worry all too quickly. “Are you alright?” he asked, his hand finding hers.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine!” Halise winced at the volume of her own voice. “Just grossed out over your infatuation with cold pizza.” _Liar_.

That wasn’t convincing enough. Cullen eyed her suspiciously as he took another bite. “What causes that anyway? The migraine, I mean.”

“Low blood pressure and a funny cluster of veins in my brain that syphons off blood from the areas where I actually need it. Usually,” she answered with another bite of gooey goodness. “Certain foods, lack of food, and sometimes lack of sleep can trigger a restriction in blood flow or a slight drop in pressure that’s just enough to send me over the edge. I get normal ones too, though. Flashy lights and headaches and all that. The basilar migraine is…unusual.”

“I get migraines, too,” he replied. “But nothing like that. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Halise shrugged. “Most people haven’t. It’s why I started keeping that note on my phone. I went down once before, and someone called an ambulance. Too expensive.” She paused for a moment, remembering how badly she must have scared him. She’d totally ruined his match and their plans. “I’m sorry.”

Cullen’s mouth shifted, pushing the bite he’d just taken into his cheek so he could speak as inoffensively as possible. The subtle movement would have made Halise smile if she hadn’t felt so guilty. “Sorry for what?” he asked sincerely.

“For this.” She pointed at her head. “I didn’t eat and it ruined your match and the rest of your day.”

“What? Maker’s breath, Halise you think you’ve ruined my day?” Cullen looked almost angry. It must have been worse than she thought. Ruined his week? His month? She nodded as much as she could muster without jostling her brain. He shook his head and sighed. “Halise, you’re here. You came all the way to South Reach to see me. You’re in my bed for Maker’s sake.” A little flush seemed to creep up his cheeks at that last bit. Adorable. “Nothing you or your body could do could have ruined my day.”

Halise pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Me or my body?”

Cullen’s blush spread over his ears, hand seeking the back of his neck once more. “That is—I meant to say—Your-uh-your migraine. Your body…gave you a migraine? Maker’s breath, I’m not saying this right.”

Halise let the toothy grin slide up her lips at that. With the hand not covered in pizza grease, she reached out to him, brushing his tousled curls back from his forehead and sliding her hand down to cup his jaw. It was much more intimate than perhaps she’d intended, and she felt blood rushing up her own cheeks as he stared at her, looking a bit bewildered. She remained all the same. “You’re saying it just fine. Thank you, Cullen. For taking care of me. For the pizza. For being so fucking sweet. For…just for being you.”

Cullen’s autumnal eyes darted back and forth between Halise’s for only a moment before he lunged forward, setting upon her with a fevered kiss—white hot and wonderful. She sighed through her nose, feeling his lightly calloused fingers wandering up her neck to her round cheeks. Her mouth opened without inducement, and she flicked her tongue against Cullen’s lips lightly. He hissed in a breath as his lips parted, sliding their tongues together in a way that was somehow delicate and passionate all at once. He scooted closer to her, causing the plate in his lap to shift and hit the one in hers with an excruciating _clink_.

The sharp sound sent pain from the right side of Halise’s head to the left like an arrow. She gasped, ripping her mouth from his with a panting grimace. Cullen looked deeply conflicted as he stared at her. “I—I’m sorry…That was…really nice,” he stammered.

Halise giggled and winced with the jolt it brought. “It was,” she agreed. “But I think I need to lay back down.”

Cullen nodded fervently, backing away from her and taking both their plates as he stood. “I’ll leave you be,” he said as he started to walk away.

“Hey,” she called after him quietly, stopping him in his tracks. “You don’t have to go. I—I want you to stay.” She glanced at the TV on the small dresser across from the bed. “Do you get Nugflix on that thing?” she asked, giving Cullen as hopeful a smile as she could muster.

He returned her expression. “I do. Just let me put these in the sink, and I’ll be right back.” Halise nodded gently, beaming at him.

Halise curled up into Cullen’s body while the movie played quietly, the only light in the now dark room. Her head rested over his shoulder and chest, and his arm held her tightly. His other hand rested across her waist, fingers periodically tracing little pictures into her side. She longed to stay awake—to savor the sensation—but exhaustion tugged at her consciousness and her eyelids. It didn’t help—or maybe it did—that he was so warm and comfortable and safe. So perfect, despite the cold pizza. He was just so—

 _Ow._ Something was pinching her waist. It woke Halise for a brief moment before she dozed off once more. _OW!_ The same thing squeezed her so hard her eyes flew open. She was still laying against Cullen, but his chest was rising and falling erratically. His fingers dug into her skin and muscle, bruising in his sheer strength. She turned her head up enough to see his face, which was contorted with anguish.

“No,” he mumbled. “Leave me…leave me!” He squeezed her roughly once more.

Halise had seen something like this before. “Cullen,” she murmured, bringing a hand up to his hair. He still gasped, a thin sheen of sweat building on his forehead, eyes crammed closed. “Cullen. It’s alright.” A little louder, fingers running through his blonde curls.

The pain seemed to drop from Cullen’s face slowly as she stroked his hair carefully. A sigh escaped his barely parted lips, and his fingers loosened from her waist. There would undoubtedly be a mark there in the morning. Unafraid of another episode, but knowing that she had to ask him about it when they woke, she settled back against him again. Worry pricked at her mind as she drifted back to sleep. What had happened to him?

When Halise did wake, the sun peered in around the edges of the curtains. Cullen still slept under her, his mouth hanging open just a bit, curls mussed. For some reason, Halise got the impression that he didn’t usually sleep in. With that in mind, she slipped out from under his arms very slowly, setting them delicately against his stomach before creeping away from the bed.

She surveyed his sparsely appointed apartment as she searched for the bathroom, finding it across the living room from the bedroom. She took note of his video game console and the books on his shelves—not all law school books, but a lot of military, statistics, and technical tomes. He’d even brought in her overnight bag, and she stopped to grab clothes to change into in the bathroom. Once she’d relieved herself, she took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror. Her own curls were a bit frizzy, but otherwise intact, and the bags under her eyes were the same color as usual. Her mascara had smudged and flaked during the night, so she wetted her fingertips under the faucet and ran them under her eyes, removing most of the black mess. When she lifted her shirt to change, she saw a light bruise where Cullen had squeezed her. She felt terrible, not because he’d bruised her, but because he’d obviously had to deal with something very traumatic to give him those kinds of night terrors. Halise’s father certainly had.

Shaking off the thoughts—they did no good while Cullen was still asleep—Halise left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. It would be nice to make him breakfast to thank him for taking care of her. But when she opened the refrigerator, it was very sparsely stocked. Fortunately, there were six eggs and a fraction of a block of cheese. None of the condiments in the door seemed terribly well-suited to breakfast, and she couldn’t find any bread anywhere. _Omelets it is_ , she thought, digging out a pan as quietly as she could from one of the lower cupboards.

Halise hummed while she cooked, taking pleasure in the sounds, sights, and smells. A thumping sound from behind her startled her, and she spun about, holding up the wooden spatula in her hand as if to use it as a weapon. Cullen stood in the doorway of the bedroom with his head leaning on the doorframe. Halise sighed, releasing the tension in her body.

“I was scared you’d left,” he said, brows slowly un-creasing as he stepped toward her.

“I don’t know where I am,” she replied with a smirk. “So it would be pretty hard for me to find my way back to my car.” She turned back to her omelet, watching it carefully to ensure it didn’t burn.

“You have a very lovely voice,” Cullen murmured, much closer to her than he had been.

Halise smiled, knowing he couldn’t see. “Thank you.”

She felt Cullen’s warm hands slide around her waist and his breath near the nape of her neck. The sensation had warmth pooling in her core. That is, until he put even a modicum of pressure on her bruised side. Instinctively, she winced, hissed, and pulled away from him.

“I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I thought—”

She lowered the heat on the stove and turned to face him. He looked so hurt at her recoil. “It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me, Cullen,” she explained, brushing her hand across the arm he’d brought up to rub the back of his neck. “I just—I have a bruise there now.” Halise lifted her shirt a bit, exposing the reddish-purple mark on her flesh.

“But you didn’t—” Cullen’s face went from angry to confused to understanding to sorrowful in a matter of moments. “I didn’t…” His voice trailed off.

“It’s alright,” Halise cooed. Before he could protest, she added, “But I do think it’s time for you to tell me what happened while you were a Templar.”

He looked as if he was about to protest, but quickly changed his mind. “It was after the massive hostage situation at Kinloch,” he began. She’d seen it on the news. “A lot of terrible things happened there after my unit was called in. I was a lieutenant by then, and I lost several of my men—blown up, dismembered, tortured…” He waned for a second before continuing. “I insisted we be grounded after that. The guys that were left were traumatized. We needed time to process what had happened.

“But the brass wouldn’t hear it. They promoted me to captain, and less than a month after Kinloch, sent us up to Kirkwall to quell a growing rebellion. We were…meant to meet up with another few teams of Templars when we got there, but…” He stopped.

Halise reached behind her to turn off the stove, then walked over to him. She looked up into his eyes, tilting her head slightly before wrapping her arms around him. Her forehead rested against his neck, giving him permission to stop if he needed to. One of Cullen’s large hands found the back of her hair, stroking it lightly as he decided to press on.

“No one was in Kirkwall when we got there. We were alone on foreign soil and totally outnumbered. And the rebels had too many places to hide. They took out two of my men before I ordered everyone to fall back. I provided cover for the retreat, but one of the Templars—Aldridge, just a kid, really—kicked an IUD in the street. We—um—we both got blown up. He didn’t make it.”

Halise rubbed little circles on Cullen’s back, soothing him as best she could. “I was captured. They held me for days, beating me for information I didn’t have and wouldn’t give them. That’s how I got the scar on my lip. One of the bastards punched me with a broken brick—it’s amazing he didn’t knock my teeth out. When the next team finally found me, I was…in bad shape. It took months until I could walk on my own again, but the second I could, I marched into my superior’s office and requested a discharge.”

Tears had broken free of Halise’s eyes long before Cullen paused. When his story went on, it was all she could do not to sob openly. “They make Templars take lyrium, I’m sure you know. But they don’t give you much to wean off when you discharge, so I was in recovery and withdrawal at the same time. The lyrium withdrawal is still something I struggle with constantly. The doctors I’ve spoken to say that will never go away. Not entirely, anyway. And it makes the nightmares worse. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I…I really didn’t mean to. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

“What?! Why would I want that?! I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” Halise replied, trying not to let him hear her tears. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Cullen. That’s so…awful.” There really weren’t words to describe how terrible it really was. He’d been failed at every level and left to rot by the organization he’d nearly lost his life for. No one deserved that, but especially not someone so caring and kind.

Cullen pulled back a bit, encircling Halise’s face in his strong hands—stronger now that she knew what he’d been through. His thumbs wiped away the remnants of her tears before he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t sad. Nor was it desperate, nor sexual, nor fleeting. It was simply meaningful, as if they were breathing life into each other. She tried to steal away his pain, and he tried to mend the hurt he’d caused. Everything was in that kiss, and something in Halise’s gut flipped with a sudden realization.

She loved him.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story, I wrote the kind of migraine Halise gets because I get them. It's something that happens from time to time, and it scares the shit out of people around me, but all of the symptoms I described from my own experience. I only say this because I know they sound a little strange, especially the distance phenomenon. But there you go. 
> 
> This is a long chapter, but I realize that most of them are, so this is probably the last time I'll mention it, haha.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song, song, sing along! (Click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oib0a2_itA) to listen!)

It took four days to go through Denam’s journal for evidence they could use against Corypheus. It was filled to the brim with the rantings and ravings of an addict, making it more than a bit difficult to filter what was useful from what wasn’t. Halise and Cullen sat shoulder to shoulder for hours on end, taking turns reading aloud and taking notes. They both came to work early and stayed late, eating all of their meals together in their office. They even started developing identical dark circles under their eyes.

Halise would look over at Cullen from time to time as he read, admiring his handsome features and the stubble that grew out by the end of the day. Her feelings bubbled up stronger and more impotently every day. How had they ever fallen apart? Nothing really went wrong between them. She reminded herself that it had all just been a case of wrong place, wrong time. But shouldn’t she have tried harder? Wasn’t there something she could have done so she didn’t have to sit this close to him without being able to kiss him? Also, what happened to his glasses? That was perhaps the only question she could ask aloud, so during lunch one day, she did.

“I got laser surgery,” was his brief reply.

“Aaaahhhh,” was all she could say in return. Back to work.

Two hours after the courthouse closed on the fourth day, they finally finished. The last page was coated in red and black scrawl, letters jumbled and crossed and nearly illegible. The split second thought that Cullen could have ended up that insane if he’d taken a different path churned Halise’s stomach.

“There’s a lot in the last couple of weeks’ entries about this ‘Archdemon,’” Cullen remarked, mercifully tearing Halise from her increasingly twisted thoughts.

“Yeah. The way Denam made it sound…It’s like the Archdemon is a triggerman or gun hand for Corypheus, which makes sense. It would help if we could figure out who the moniker belongs to, though. He might be the one who actually killed Justinia.”

“Maker knows Corypheus seems too aloof to have done it himself.” Cullen rubbed the nape of his neck and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to shut out the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Halise felt the corners of her eyes sagging, forlorn at the sight of him. She just wanted to wrap her arms around him.

“I think it’s time we have a little meeting with our defendant,” Halise said, picking up the receiver for the phone on her desk. “I’m going to call over to his attorneys’ office and leave a message asking them to set something up for tomorrow.”

Cullen sat back up, watching her with tired eyes as she flipped the case file to the front page. She tapped in the phone number to the firm and sighed when a recording answered. “Hello,” a female voice chirped happily. “You have reached the Law Offices of Samson and Nerva. Our office is currently closed, but we encourage you to leave a message on our secured voicemail. If you are a client or prospective client, please press one. If you are a court clerk calling to provide updated information as to appearance or subpoena times, please press two. If you are an attorney calling from another office or the District Attorney’s Office, please press three.”

Halise pounded three as soon as she heard the option. She never was much of a fan of recordings. A different voice prompted her to leave a message after a beep. “Hello,” Halise said in her most professional tone. “This is Halise Lavellan from the Denerim District Attorney’s Office. I’m calling regarding the Festus case. My co-counsel and I would like to set up a meeting tomorrow—that’s the twenty-seventh of Kingsway—with Mr. Festus. I’m aware that this is short notice, but some new evidence has come to light, and after an assessment of its relevance, we’ve deemed it exculpatory and would like to make it available to you and discuss its contents with your client. Please call us back at your earliest convenience.” She left her phone number and hung up.

When she turned back to face Cullen, he was hunched over, staring at the front page of the file so hard he could have burned a hole in it with his mind. He looked absolutely furious. “Hey,” Halise murmured, touching him lightly on the arm. His expression was unchanging as his gaze shifted up to her. “What’s wrong?”

Cullen tapped the page, unflinching in his stare. “This says that Raleigh Samson is one of the attorneys of record.”

Halise cocked her head. “Yeah, Calpernia Nerva and Raleigh Samson. Why?” She noted the suspicion in her own tone.

“Samson and I went through Templar basic training together,” Cullen answered.

“What?!” That had absolutely not been what she’d expected to hear.

“We spent nine months in the same bunk room together. He was dishonorably discharged after they found out he’d been smuggling contraband in and out of the barracks. He was so dutiful when we started training, I never really understood what happened. But he got another soldier wrapped up in the whole thing. Both of them got the boot. Maddox, I think his name was.”

“Waitwaitwait.” Halise held out her hand to stop him. “His fucking _paralegal,_ Maddox?” Her head was spinning. The world could not be this small. Not in a million years.

“He stayed with him?! After all Samson—” Cullen cut himself off, rage baring his teeth.

Halise huffed out a little breath, irritation prickling at her gums. “This is okay, right? You’re going to be okay? Because I really fucking need you to tell me you’re going to be okay.” Her tone was curt, but not angry.

Even so, Cullen looked shocked when she asked him that. Maybe even a little hurt. “Of course, Halise. That was more than a decade ago. I’m—I was just surprised. That’s all. You can count on me.” He’d softened significantly by the end of his answer.

Somewhat appeased, Halise replied, “Good. Thank you.”

The two of them parted ways for the evening not long after. Halise couldn’t help but wonder what the Creators or the Maker or the universe or whoever were up to. They just kept pushing the past back into her face, like a fetid reminder of what might have been. She needed much more sleep than she’d been getting, and she managed at least a bit after returning to her little house that night, though her dreams were fraught with sordid memories.

Exhaustion hadn’t seen fit to leave her bones just yet. She could feel her posture drooping as she rode the elevator up to the office the next morning. She and Sera hadn’t carpooled in days, given the strange hours Halise had been working, and she never felt quite right walking in without her blonde backup.

Halise was early, and the office was sparsely populated, but no one ever seemed to beat Cullen to work. She’d only arrived around the same time as him for the past few days, and she’d never really seen him settle in for the day. As usual, he was already seated at his desk when she got to their office, tick-tacking away at the keyboard of his laptop. She attempted a smile, but knew it had been somewhat ineffectual when Cullen’s slipped from his lips. She was just too fucking tired and emotionally overwrought.

The tiny red voicemail light blinked away blithely on Halise’s desk phone, and she pressed the button to play it on speaker before even sitting. “Hello, Ms. Lavellan, this is Raleigh Samson,” a male voice said, instantly recognizable from his slimy tone. Cullen’s head popped up from his work. “Unfortunately, Ms. Nerva and I are both unavailable for the meeting you requested with Mr. Festus today. However, he has advised us that he is perfectly fine meeting with you and your co-counsel without either of us present. I understand that you have evidence to exchange, and you may fax it or send it to our office with one of your runners at your earliest convenience. Either my partner or I will be in touch.” A loud _click_ ended the message there.

Halise gave the phone the finger. Tote bag still slung over her shoulder, she turned back to Cullen with a sigh. “Welp, ready for a fieldtrip?” He simply nodded and stood.

Denerim Central Jail was a bleak place on the outskirts of the city. The tall cement building was dappled with tiny windows no bigger than Halise’s forearm, and stood out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the increasingly rural surrounding neighborhood. Every painted sign was chipped and tagged to an almost unrecognizable degree. Upon entering, the interior was shellacked in dingy shades of blue and off-white that may once have actually been white. Old dirt and grime stuck visibly to every surface, and the whole place seemed sort of…sticky.

Halise and Cullen approached the front desk, where a clearly annoyed Qunari deputy sat with a handwritten list on a large grid. Halise smiled widely at the man, doing her best to warm him up a bit as she withdrew her DA ID card. “Halise Lavellan and Cullen Rutherford from Skyhold.” It was weird calling the office that, no matter how many people recognized the name. They passed their badges to the deputy, who took them with a sigh and skeptical glance at both of them before writing their names on the list. She chewed on the inside of her lip before adding, “We’re here to see Corey Festus.”

At that, the guard arched an eyebrow. But that was all the reaction they managed to get before he handed back their cards and nodded toward the gate barring them from entry. Halise smiled again and uttered a light “Thank you,” as she and Cullen headed to the gate. An obnoxious _buzz_ sounded, and the female deputy on the other side of the gate yanked it open. She led the prosecutors to a small greenish room with a large pane of two-way mirrored glass to wait.

Halise sat in the gray plastic chair on one side of the table, pulling out a notepad, a recorder, a retractable pen, and a stack of photocopies she’d made from relevant parts of Denam’s journal. She could hear Cullen’s shoes tapping on the floor as he paced. Having already centered and stilled herself, she cast a stoic glance at him to tell him to sit. He swapped his angry expression for an apologetic one as he sat in the chair beside her.

“I’m sorry. I just—He hurt you, and it’s hard for me to get past that.” Cullen put his hand on her arm for the briefest moment, leaving only fire in his wake. Had she not been in interview mode, she might have come undone then and there.

Her mouth opened to speak, but the perpetually semi-rusted door squeaked loudly behind them. Halise started up her recorder, needing to ensure that every moment of their interaction was documented. A deputy entered first, followed by Corypheus, followed by a second deputy. Corypheus was not a young man, neither was he an old one. His skin was sickly and sallow, eyes bloodshot. His dark hair was short close to his head, which appeared to have a fresh batch of red sores and growths that marked his continued use of red lyrium in jail. His long, bony fingers were caked with Mythal-knew-what, as were his pants and shirt.

He seated himself across the table from Halise with a smug smile and crossed arms. She nodded to the deputies, who made small motions to indicate that they would be waiting on the other side of the glass. Another grateful nod later, she was facing the asshole once more. She looked to Cullen, silent fury etched into all of his features, and spoke.

“Good morning, Mr. Festus. Before we begin today I need to verbally confirm that you are consenting to speak to us and waiving your constitutional right to have your attorney or attorneys present during this interview,” Halise said evenly. “Are you knowingly consenting and providing such waiver?”

“You brought muscle this time, I see,” Corypheus sneered in his Tevinter accent, obviating his intent to make the meeting a difficult one.

“Mr. Festus, before Mr. Rutherford or I can discuss anything further, I need your oral confirmation of the waiver of your rights.”

“Oh, you need something oral from me, knife ear?” The gangster made a rather lude gesture at her. Oh, how he was trying to shake her. Again, he had no idea who he was screwing with.

“We’d be happy to leave and come back when you have counsel present if you do not wish to waive your rights,” Halise said, standing and gathering up her things. Cullen stood with her, making his way behind her.

“Fine, fine. Yes, I’m waiving my right to have my lawyers here,” Corypheus finally answered begrudgingly.

Cullen and Halise both took their seats once more, and Halise flashed a smile at her defendant. “Lovely. Thank you very much. Now, to address your first concern. Mr. Rutherford is my co-counsel on your case, and is assisting with the investigation and prosecution given the…extensive and varied nature of the charges against you. As to the second bit of what of what you said, I would be happy to add a hate crime enhancement to the assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder charges, seeing as my being an elf seems to have motivated your attack on me in the courtroom in Redcliffe.” She smiled again. _Fuck you_.

“Your being an elf had nothing to do with Redcliffe,” the asshole responded, avoiding specific terms. This wasn’t his first run in with the law—not by a long shot.

“Happy to hear it. So, can we get started?”

“That depends. Is your _well-structured_ partner going to be speaking today, or is he just here to make you feel safe from me?” Corypheus licked his lips as he eyed Cullen. The sight of it nauseated Halise a bit, and she turned her gaze to Cullen. To her pleasure, he’d become as stone-faced as ever.

“As Ms. Lavellan told you,” Cullen said firmly, “I am her co-counsel. I am _assisting_ her efforts, so if I have any questions for you during this process, I shan’t hesitate to ask.”

The sickly pale man let a dark laugh escape from his chest. “I’m sure you _shan’t_.”

“Mr. Festus,” Halise spoke again, drawing the prick’s attention back to her, “we’ve recently come into possession of a document that mentions a lot of illicit activity in relation to you, not the least of which are trafficking drugs and people, as well as murder. But we know you would never admit to such things. You’re a smart man, after all.” _Flatter his vanity._ “We did want to ask, however, if you were familiar with someone who calls themselves ‘the Archdemon?’ We’ve seen ‘Archdemon’ accused of some of the crimes with which you’ve been charged, and were wondering if some of those charges needed to be dropped.” _Subtly introduce the bait deal_.

Corypheus’s eyes went wide for a split second. _Bin-fucking-go_. “Well, you’re welcome to drop the charges if you like. I didn’t do any of what you say, so you might as well, seeing as you’re going to lose. As for this ‘Archdemon’ person, I’ve never heard of him.”

“Him?” Cullen asked before Halise could.

“Well, I can only assume it’s a man,” the gangster retorted quickly, “since you think he did what you’re saying I did.”

Halise furrowed her brow, feigning concern for the cadaverous douche-pond. “Oh no, Mr. Festus. That’s not what we said. We’re not convinced you’re any less guilty.”

“We were simply wondering if you could shed some light on whether ‘the Archdemon’ is the _actual_ guilty party. Denam seems to think the two of you are working together, though, so who really knows?” Cullen added smoothly. He bounced off of Halise very well.

Corypheus’s expression shifted. “Denam’s dead,” he spat.

 _Gotcha bitch._ “Wait,” Halise murmured with a little shake of her head. “How would you know that Denam is dead? He died after you were arrested and he was a Red Templar. They don’t have any dealings with the Venatori. They’re not even rivals. No crossed paths at all.”

He glared at her fiercely. “He OD’d in the neighborhood. You hear about big things that happen in your own hood, even when you’re in jail. I get visitors every day, as I’m sure you know.”

“So we do,” Halise replied with a little nod. “So, you’ve had visitors every day this week, right?” Corypheus nodded slowly. “Right, I forgot to check your visitor’s log on my way in. You’ve got a girlfriend, right? Baby mama? Someone who comes to visit you every week, hmm?” He nodded again. “So when she came in this week, she must have told you about Bobby Fletcher’s big life event right?” Another nod. “Hmm. I only have ‘big life event’ written here and I forgot what it was. Could you remind me?”

She could feel Cullen trying not to smirk when Corypheus squinted at her. “I can’t remember every little thing that happens to everyone,” he replied.

“Oh, but this was no little thing. See?” She turned her notepad so he could see what she’d written and pointed. “I even underlined it. I thought you heard about the ‘big things’ that happen in your neighborhood. You seem to remember Denam’s death pretty well, so what’s different about Bobby’s big thing?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me what’s so different?” he snarled, leaning part of the way across the table.

Halise stared directly into his eyes. “Absolutely nothing. Bobby Fletcher was a known Red Templar who OD’d on red lyrium last week. Funny thing too—it happened on the street where you live—or lived, present circumstances accounted for.” She turned to Cullen. “I would’ve thought she’d have told him that, right? I mean it’s the exact same thing that happened to Denam, so why wouldn’t she say anything? And if she did, why would he remember Denam so well but not Bobby?”

“I have a theory,” Cullen replied with a little glance at Corypheus, who shifted more and more nervously in his seat. “I think Mr. Festus had something to do with Denam’s death. He wanted to make sure it was done right since he couldn’t do it himself, so he had someone tell him it was done afterwards. Bobby died on accident, so no one had any reason to tell him.”

“That’s a fascinating theory, Mr. Rutherford!” she cried before rotating back to the shit-spackle sitting across from her. “What do you think, Mr. Festus? Are we getting warm?” She grinned genially.

Wrath burned in Corypheus’s bloodshot eyes. Without warning, he lunged forward with a shout. He smashed Halise’s recorder into several pieces with his fist, even as she could hear the deputies scrambling out of the room on the other side of the two-way mirror. Cullen leapt up from his seat, sending it flying behind him in his readiness to protect Halise, but Corypheus knew better than to try the same trick twice.

“Listen, cunt,” he growled, leaning forward on the fists he’d braced against the table. “You were a mistake, and you’ve no idea what you’ve spoilt with your stumbling. I have friends you’ve never met, but I’ll be making sure someone pays you a visit very soon.”

Before he could elaborate, the two deputies from before charged into the room and snatched him up. He didn’t resist when they grabbed him, but he did turn back to her and flick his tongue at her lewdly. Ech.

Cullen grabbed her by her arms the second Corypheus was out of the room. His honeyed eyes were wide and panic stricken as he lifted her limbs to examine them frantically. “Did he hurt you? He didn’t touch you, did he? Are you alright?”

Halise smiled up at him, grateful for his friendly concern. “I’m fine,” she said soothingly. “He didn’t touch me.” She frowned for a moment. “He did break my recorder,” she added as she reached into her bag. “I guess it’s a good thing I brought two.”

*****

“Drinks and karaoke at Haven tonight!!!” Halise shouted as she strutted back through the office, blue heels clacking on the floor with every triumphant step. “First round’s on me!!!”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile at her mirth. They’d managed to put a serious crack in Corypheus’s armor while simultaneously cementing part of their theory about what had been going on in the neighborhood and giving more credence to Denam’s journal. Cullen also couldn’t seem to help staring at her bottom as she walked. Her black pencil skirt hugged her figure so tightly, every sway and flex on display to even the most casual onlooker. And Maker, did she sway.

He struggled for the rest of the work day with the faint memory of how it felt in his hands. As she innocently bobbed her head and hummed lightly to the music pumping through her earbuds not ten feet in front of him, he shamefully tried to remember what it felt like to feel her. He knew he shouldn’t but he did anyway. Mostly, he just remembered thinking she felt delicious under his touch. He remembered how she would squirm and moan for him when he squeezed or spanked her. He remembered the gentle arch of her spine as she leaned back to kiss him. But he couldn’t remember the actual sensation of her in his hands. Suffice it to say, he got very little work done,  reading the same paragraphs over and over in his files while he thought of her.

Still, the work day was over before he knew it, and nearly every person in the office stopped in at their doorway on the way out. They all said they would be at Haven and a few mentioned that they expected Halise to make good on her promise of a free round. She just beamed back at them and told them all not to worry. The office was all but empty when she finally began to pack up her belongings.

“Hey!” she barked at him with a grin. “Get your shit together, man, let’s go!”

“Oh, you don’t want me there.” He felt his hand slide to the back of his neck.

“Of course I want you there!” she bellowed. “Did you see us today?! We were on fucking fire! This is as much your little win as mine.” Her brow creased and she chewed on the inside of her lip. “Unless you don’t want to come.”

Cullen’s gut churned. She wanted him there, so he should be there. “No, no. I’ll come.” Maker, he was a weak, weak man under her gaze.

Her wide smile spread again. “Kickass!” It made Cullen chuckle as he packed up his satchel.

They chatted about the triumphant events of the day as they went down to the parking structure together, stopping next to her car. She unlocked it with the press of a button on her keys and a flash of the headlights, and bent in to grab something out of the still-messy back seat. Once again, Cullen couldn’t help but leer like a lecherous old man as she dug around, coming up with a pair of jeans and a shirt. But where was she planning on changing?

Halise ran around the other side of her car, toeing off her heels in favor of her flats. Through the un-tinted front windows, Cullen watched—entirely without meaning to this time—as she pulled the jeans up under her pencil skirt. The black fabric rucked up ahead of the jeans just enough for him to accidentally catch a glimpse of pale flesh and light pink lace. _What are you staring at you pervert?!_ he thought to himself. _You have a girlfriend, and Halise has absolutely moved on_.

When she shucked off her jacket he felt the blood rush up his face and ears. “Oh yeah, hey, don’t look,” Halise giggled without turning back toward him.

He obliged, turning away from her as quickly as his body would move without falling. “Maker’s breath. You know, there are felons walking through this parking lot,” he said, more nerves in his voice than he would have liked.

She laughed. “Good! Let them get one last look before I send their asses to prison!”

It was another moment before the car door on the other side opened and closed, and she ran back to where Cullen stood. She wore a loose, mossy tunic with a wide neck that exposed one pink bra strap on her right shoulder. “So, do you need me to be your DD or are you driving too?”

He shook his head, trying to say no and fling his lascivious thoughts out of his ears. “No, I’ll drive myself.”

He followed her little blue car the whole way to Haven. The silhouette of Halise’s face, hair, and shoulders bounced and moved to whatever music she was playing, bringing a secretive smile to Cullen’s lips. She managed to find a parking spot directly across the street from Haven, but Cullen had to  park a little ways down the street. He met back up with her before they walked in together.

A raucous shout and a large number of drinks in the air greeted them. Almost everyone from the office had come, save for Solas. He’d never been one for socialization after work, but then neither had Cullen. The bailiff from 12—Iron Bull was it?—had also brought a herd of the other bailiffs. Cullen was vaguely aware that a group of them called themselves “the Chargers,” but never got involved enough to find out more. Apparently, Halise knew the heaping Qunari quite well, though. He was one of the first people she ran up to and hugged. _That’s right, he’s engaged to Dorian, and they’re very close_.

Cullen struggled to remember all of the intra-office relationships while he settled in by the bar. Cole and Varric liked to stick together. Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra had all known each other for years. Sera, Halise, Dorian, and apparently Iron Bull were all close. Recalling it all made him feel like the odd man out all of a sudden. He turned to the bartender, a balding dwarf with a thick, dark beard, and started ordering a scotch, neat.

Halise flew in beside him, her hands slamming against the bar with the force of the full tilt run she must have done to get there in time. “Nobody pays for the first round, Cabot!” she panted. “It’s on me.” The dwarf nodded. “Speaking of which, can I please have a pint of Bootlegger’s Black Phoenix?” she purred with a grin. He nodded again, and she slapped the top of the bar.

“Having your one beer at the start of the evening, I see,” Cullen remarked with a smirk.

“You know me so well,” she teased, poking him in the chest. Their drinks arrived, and she handed his to him gingerly, giving the glass a tinkling little tap with her magenta fingernail. “No more than two of these, huh?”

Cullen sighed and smiled. “Right.” They really did know each other too well sometimes.

Time wore on quickly, inebriation setting in around him as the night progressed. A couple of people took turns singing karaoke alone and in groups, howling out laughably terrible versions of their favorite hits. Clusters of coworkers would embroil Cullen in conversation, putting him oddly more at ease with every passing moment. At some point, Halise and her friends made their way over to him. Dorian and Iron Bull were surprisingly friendly, and Cullen was shocked to learn that the three of them actually had a lot in common, including their mutual love of chess. Sera was her usual self, already three sheets to the wind and wobbling around chortling at everything. Halise’s eyes sparkled in the company of her friends, her animated way of speaking even more pronounced than he was accustomed to.

She shot a quick mischievous grin directly at Cullen. All at once, she cupped her hands around her mouth and proclaimed loudly to everyone in earshot, “Alright!!! I’m gonna do a song!”

The mass of coworkers and a few other patrons whooped and cheered and raised their glasses, which had reached far beyond the one free round by then. Halise skipped up to the karaoke stage, wiggling around as she examined the available songs. Varric had settled onto the barstool beside Cullen at some point, and Dorian sat at his other side. All eyes were on Halise when she punched in a number and took the microphone in hand. Before the music began, she tugged her hair free of the confines of her ponytail, shaking her head to let her locks flow naturally over her shoulders and down her back.

Blues guitar and keyboard seemed to jolt her into life, drawing her free hand into the air and pulsing her shoulders into rough little shimmies. Cullen recognized the song as one he’d heard many times, and he wondered how it would sound in Halise’s voice given the power of the original signer.

 

_So much is going on_

_But you can always come around_

_Why don't you sit with me for just a little while?_

_Tell me, what's wrong?_

_If you just gimme all your love ooh_

_Gimme all you got, babe_

_Gimme all your love ooh_

_Bit more_

 

Halise’s voice sprang majestically from deep in her chest. Every note was sung passionately and loudly, a tiny rasp invading several words in the best way. Her body undulated with the tune, and shook with the chorus. She held onto the microphone stand, lowering herself slowly before flying back up, wild red curls creating an arc of flames over her pale face and arms. Her chest jutted forward, throwing her head back and sending little tendrils sliding down her cheeks and nose.

 

_So tell me what you wanna do_

_You say the world, it doesn't fit with you_

_Why don't you talk to me for just a little while?_

_I can only try to make it right_

_If you just gimme all your love ooh_

_Gimme all you got, babe_

_Gimme all your love ooh_

 

A long solo began, slow at first, but building into something more fast-paced by the second. Halise swayed alone on stage for the first moment, but abruptly leapt off, grabbing Josephine—the closest one to the stage—into her arms and dancing with her. They both laughed loudly, and Halise released the lovely little Antivan, moving on to Leliana and Cassandra. She spun the two severe women away and tugged them back, and Cullen had never seen them giggle like they did then. The lively redhead swung Cole around in a little circle, leaving him with a surprised smile as she swatted the very drunk Sera on the ass on her way by. She flew in front of Dorian and Bull, grasping their hands, arching her back, and dipping herself backwards. Dorian chuckled, tugged her arm over her head and twirled her right past Cullen to where Varric was perched. She gave the dwarf a little bump with her hip before finally turning her attention to Cullen. His heart caught in his chest in the instant she paused in front of him. Wide grin still affixed to her lips, she grabbed his left hand in her right, spun in with her back pressed against his chest, and spun away. She let go, running back up to the stage for the last three lines of the song. Cullen’s heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear her.

 

_Give me all your love_

_Give me all you got, babe whoo_

_Give me all your love_

 

The whole bar erupted into applause, sending a tittering laugh through Halise into the microphone. “Thank you!” she hollered, taking a sweeping, dramatic bow with her tongue hanging out. Such was her way.

“You know, Curly,” Varric’s voice sounded from beside him, tone already too suggestive, “a guy watching you watch Torch might be inclined to think you’re carrying a torch yourself.”

Dorian sprayed tiny droplets of his drink in front of them when he spat and sputtered. The back of his hand flew over his mouth as he coughed, turning away from Cullen toward the bar. Iron Bull patted the olive-skinned man on the back as his shoulders shook with the force of shattered breaths leaving his body.

Cullen glared at Varric, who just smirked back and chuckled. “It’s just an observation. Though I have been told I am _very_ observant.”

Cullen’s only answer was a sneer, and it was all he had time for before Halise bounded back across the bar and landed in front of him with a little laugh. “Alright,” she panted, “I’m gonna pound sand.” Her face twisted a bit when she saw Dorian. “What’s wrong with him?” Cullen only had time for a shrug. “Eh, whatever. Anyway, I have to go. Be safe getting home, okay?”

“Wait, how is Sera getting home?” Cullen asked.

“We’ve got her,” Bull answered in Halise’s stead. They must have known something Cullen didn’t.

Dorian finally turned back around. “Halise, I need to have a word with you,” he choked out.

“No can do, gotta go!” She was a whirlwind, patting Cullen on the shoulder before giving Dorian a little peck on the cheek and heading for the door. “Night!” she yelled back over her shoulder with a wave.

Cullen stood stunned at her abrupt exit. She was the one who had asked everyone to come out, and she hadn’t even given him a chance to offer to walk her to her car. He sidestepped her friends, moving toward the window to watch her go.

Halise stood on the driver’s side of a parked car across the street from her own, tongue stuck out and face determined as she dug through her too-large purse, presumably looking for her keys. She caught a glimpse of Cullen watching her and grinned at him. The streetlight under which she rooted around cast a strange orange glow over her, turning her long red curls the color of a cardinal in winter. When she finally found her keys, her arm flew up over her head and she mutedly hooted out her victory. With one last smile and wave at Cullen, which he weakly returned, Halise turned to walk to her car. The headlights blinked as she pressed the key.

A blinding flash and the thunderous sound of shattering glass would be all Cullen would ever remember of what happened in that exact moment. But he knew.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wha--CLIFFHANGER?! 
> 
> The lyrics used in this chapter were taken from the Alabama Shakes' song, "Gimme All Your Love," which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oib0a2_itA). I love, love, love Alabama Shakes, and I sort of fancy Cullen a blues man, so give them a listen if you like!


	9. Chapter 9

Screams and sobs were the first sounds to break through the ringing in Cullen’s ears. He rose slowly at the hip, and the scent of smoke comingled with a plasticky sweet odor drifting through the air. He’d smelled it before. Head on a swivel, reaching to his side for an M18 mod1 carbine that wasn’t there. Who took his gun?

A familiar voice groaned next to him—a fellow soldier. No. No, Cullen wasn’t a Templar anymore. He hadn’t been for almost thirteen years. The voice belonged to a coworker. Dorian. It was Dorian. Cullen’s hands instinctively reached for the man, grateful for the absence of blood or visible wounds. The mustachioed man stared up at him for only an instant before lurching up and stretching his hands forward, feeling for the massive Qunari sitting up with a groan in front of him. The two embraced nearly in slow motion through the hazy sludge of Cullen’s adrenaline.

People all around him sat and stood up, dusting themselves off and looking one another over. No casualties. No amputations. Cuts and bruises. But what exploded?

“Halise!!!” a woman’s voice screeched from behind him. Sera. He turned to look at her, standing in the middle of the bar, eyes and mouth agape, body trembling as she stared out toward the street.

Cullen followed her eyeline to the decimated window, a few jagged shards of stubborn glass jutting out of the broken wooden frame. Halise’s little blue car—or what was left of it—smoldered and burned across the street. Panic gripped every fiber of Cullen’s body, while hope ripped him from the ground. Glass slipped, crunched, and broke under his feet as he stood and broke into a run toward the hole where the window used to be, only dimly noting the sound of every armed Charger, Sera, and Leliana following after him. The window frame was low, and he leapt over it without a thought, already scanning the area for Halise as the others fanned out to try and catch the perpetrator.

He crossed halfway into the street, unintentionally kicking debris and fragments of blue metal as he cast his gaze out over the immediate area. Turning and turning, he saw no sign of Halise. His breaths punched their way in and out of his lungs, forcing him to face a bitter reality. What if she hadn’t lived? He couldn’t lose her. Not after all this.

No. There would be—Maker…There would be pieces.

A soft whimper whipped Cullen’s head around to the car parked directly in front of Haven, dropping his eyes to the ground at the barest glimpse of red hair. Halise lay on the asphalt up against the white sedan. Shrapnel jutted out of the steel she appeared to have dented as a result of the force with which the concussion hurled her body. Cullen felt a sob leave his chest at the sight of her. He rushed to her side, desperately trying to hide his horror at the amount of blood seeping from a huge laceration on the side of her neck and a head wound he couldn’t see, more dribbling from her ear.

Halise grimaced and shivered, her hand trembling when he grabbed it up into his. “That fucking sucked,” she groaned, nearly wresting a laugh from Cullen. “My Fen-damned mp3 player was in that car.”

As she spoke, Cullen remembered his basic triage training. He did his best to look her over without moving her, mentally noting the unusual position of her arm, the blood still pulsing out of her throat—less than it had been—and the blown pupil in her left eye. Her irises flickered and shook with a nystagmus. She definitely had at least a concussion, possibly a dislocated shoulder, and likely a ruptured eardrum.

“Fucking thing cost me three hundred bucks…” Halise’s voice drifted off oddly as her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Halise!” Cullen grabbed her shoulders just as she started to seize, flooding his bloodstream with more panic. Her whole body convulsed violently, choked gurgles shredding through her throat. There was nothing he could do to help her. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t—

Cullen’s maudlin thoughts were disrupted by the blare of police sirens, followed quickly by those of the paramedics and an ambulance. A small relief washed over him at the knowledge that medical help was there. The EMTs peppered him with questions as Halise’s seizure subsided and they loaded her onto a gurney. Without hesitation or a moment’s thought given to their friends or giving information to the police, Cullen leapt into the ambulance beside Halise, clutching her slim hand in his tightly. His murmured prayers to Andraste and the Maker and anyone else listening rocked him in time with the gentle oscillation of the ambulance as it sped toward tentative salvation.

Hours later, probably sometime very early in the morning—still nighttime for all intents and purposes—Halise’s doctor entered her new room in the ICU. Cullen hadn’t left her side, and was nearly hauled out by security until the doctor called them off, so he was already indebted to the man. He had a rather serious face, surprisingly adorned with a dark beard. His nameplate read “Adan.”

“Well Mr. Rutherford, we reset Ms. Lavellan’s shoulder and she has a few bruised ribs. She needed some blood, as you know, but we managed to patch up her neck and head with a few stitches. It’s remarkable, really. Had that shrapnel hit her a few inches away in any given direction, this would have been a very different conversation. Her hearing should be fine, maybe a little muddy in the one ear for a week or so.” Dr. Adan clicked his pen and looked up to Cullen from Halise’s chart.

Cullen nodded, but the doctor seemed to have a bit more to explain. “Halise’s brain is a bit different from perhaps yours or mine. More sensitive, if that makes sense.”

“Yes, I know,” Cullen interjected. “She has an extra cluster of veins gathered around her basilar artery.” He’d done a good amount of research about Halise’s migraines after she’d had a terrifying one during his Rivaini Jiu Jitsu match years ago.

Dr. Adan looked a bit stunned. “That’s right. But she did receive a very nasty bump to that part of her brain, and she has a rather severe concussion. To prevent further injury or brain damage, we’re going to be keeping her in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “How long will that be?”

“We can’t be sure. It could be a few hours or a few days. On a side note, you really should let me take a look at that cut on your jaw.”

Cullen nodded again, turning his attention back to Halise. “I understand,” he replied. “And no thank you.” The doctor may have said something before leaving the room, but Cullen didn’t hear it. He focused on the details of Halise’s face. They’d taken the tube out from between her dusky pink lips, and it appeared as if she were resting peacefully. His imagination told him she must have looked like the princess from the fairy tales, sleeping soundly until she could be awaked by true love’s kiss.

Part of him wondered if she would awaken if he kissed her.

He was jarred from that train of thought when the DPD officer who’d been stationed outside of Halise’s room for her protective detail stepped inside. “Ser, some of the other DAs are here.”

Cullen just gave him a little nod. He thought for a moment that he should release Halise’s hand, deciding against it in a fit of utter disregard for propriety. A group of their coworkers wandered into the room, stress and sorrow wearing heavily on their features. Cullen updated them on her condition, answering all the questions he could. Sera sniffed back her tears and muttered something about murder, and Dorian gazed dolefully at his friend’s unconscious countenance. Cole quietly moved opposite Cullen, grazing Halise’s curls with his fingertips, a somber expression on his face.

Eventually, they all left the way they came. But Cullen would not be moved from his seat at Halise’s side. Morning came unceremoniously, the diffused blue light of day brightening the room slowly. Cullen had no concept of how much time had passed. He was stirred once more when a different DPD officer opened the door to the room. This one didn’t say anything, just let a pair of people come in.

Shock filled the bright green eyes of the tall red-headed man who stepped in first. The sentiment was matched by Cullen, who nearly leapt out of his chair out of respect. “Captain Lavellan,” he said in stark greeting.

Halise’s father bore the same trained posture as Cullen had seen all those years ago. He knew the man had been promoted in the past seven years, and was grateful for Halise’s thought to randomly update that information for him several weeks prior. She was the spitting image of her father, eyes, hair, and mouth all remarkably similar.

Cullen reached out a hand and Halise’s father took it, shaking it gently, surprise still apparent even with the growing smile on his face. “Cullen. I  keep telling you, please, call me Revassan.” Cullen gave a curt nod, turning his attention to the rather petite woman beside Revassan.

The silver-haired woman beamed widely at him. _This must be her mother_ , Cullen thought to himself. Halise had mentioned more than once that she learned to smile from her mother. Strikingly blue eyes assessed him past her friendly countenance as she held out a hand. Cullen grasped it in his own as she introduced herself. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Cullen. I’m Dianisamahl, Halise’s mother.”

“It’s an honor to finally meet you ma’am,” Cullen replied. “Though I wish…” His voice faded as he turned his eyes back to Halise, still asleep—still unmoving.

A strangled little sound drew his gaze back to Dianisamahl. Her lower lip quivered, eyes almost glacial, glistening with tears as she looked at her daughter. So Halise had learned more than just her smile from her mother. The silver-haired woman bypassed Cullen, occupying his chair and kissing Halise’s forehead in a way that was so tender, he was almost certain it would rouse her. When true love’s kiss failed to wake her, Cullen refocused his attention on Revassan, almost ashamed at having looked in on such an intimate moment between mother and daughter.

“I’ll be honest,” Revassan began, “I’m more than a bit surprised to see you here. I was almost certain it would be Sera or Dorian. Which is not to say I’m not happy to see you, just…surprised. Like I said.”

“If we’re being honest, Ser—”

“Cullen, for the love of Mythal, just call me Revassan.” His brows creased plaintively, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Revassan,” Cullen acquiesced, “if we’re being honest, I’m also rather surprised to see you got here so quickly.”

“Ah. Well, we were already on our way, you see. We’d planned to fly out for the day to see Halise, and Sera called us just before we got on the plane a few hours ago.” So that was why she’d been in such a rush to leave Haven. Revassan tilted his head a bit, looking Cullen in the eye in a manner eerily similar to the way Halise always did. “Who did this to my little girl?”

Cullen was certain his heart would shrivel in his chest, killing him where he stood. “I—I don’t really know. I am fairly certain I know who ordered it, though,” he answered, hand sliding up the back of his neck.

Revassan’s face twisted with something like recognition blended with fury. “Tell me it wasn’t that fucker who stabbed her,” he growled.

“I believe it was,” Cullen replied. Shame oozed up his spine. “I should have protected her,” he added, averting his eyes from Revassan’s piercing stare.

“I have no idea how you think you could have done that. Halise told us you volunteered to be her co-counsel against this douche-canoe.” Colorful cursing—another trait Halise shared with her father. “That’s more than most people would have done. This asshole is clearly very dangerous and well-connected, and you’re likely in just as much danger as she is right now. Also, I’m sure you know as well as I do there isn’t anything you could do to stop her from seeing this through.”

Cullen allowed himself to look back at Revassan. He’d softened a bit, a gesture of appreciation perhaps? Up close, a few white hairs twined through the strands of red like snowflakes streaking to their doom in a firestorm. Would that be what Halise’s long curls would look like when she got older? Maker, she would be so beautiful. Her father put a gentle hand on Cullen’s shoulder, flooding his wracked body with relief. With a little pat, Revassan said, “You look exhausted, Cullen. You should get some rest. And don’t worry, we have the watch from here.”

A heavy swallow worked its way down Cullen’s throat. Of course her parents should be the ones with her. He had no wish to leave, but knew that Revassan was probably right. He would be no good to Halise if he wound up hospitalized himself. And her father’s words resonated very deeply with him, back to who he was, and part of who he would always be. For a soldier—for a cop—to take the watch was an ultimate display of respect. It was a recognition of adherence to duty, and an offer of relief. There was no way Cullen could refuse such a gesture. “Alright,” he said softly. “But if it’s alright with you, I would like to come back later today.” Revassan’s only reply was a gentle smile and nod.

Before Cullen could reach the door, he felt the delicate touch of slim fingers on his bicep. He turned to see Dianisamahl, a grateful smile gracing her lovely face. Rather than saying anything, she simply swept him into her arms, giving his neck a little squeeze before releasing him. _Maker’s breath,_ it was no wonder Halise had turned out so incredible.

Cullen had only been back in his apartment for about twenty-five minutes before he heard a knock on his front door. He withdrew his head from his hands slowly, looking at the white door as if to see through it to learn who was on the other side, assuming it was probably Sera. It seemed like her to come over without calling first. He hadn’t even had a chance to change out of his ripped and bloodied suit.

He rose, dragging his feet across the laminate floor until he reached the door. Righting his posture to put on a strong front, he turned the knob. To his stomach-lurching surprise, Felicity’s smiling face waited outside, brows a bit crinkled in worry. She flung her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. _No, no, no,_ he thought. _This is wrong._

“Cullen,” she sighed. “I came as soon as I heard what happened at Haven. Are you alright? You should have a doctor look at that cut on your jaw. What actually happened?” Felicity spoke full-bore, clearly concerned for him.

Cullen stepped aside, allowing her to slip by and closing the door behind her to shut out the day that was much too bright for his mood. He had no idea how this would go. He just knew he couldn’t do it anymore. “Someone blew up Halise’s car,” he said, deciding to answer her question first.

Felicity’s eyes went wide as she gasped, genuinely concerned, no doubt. “Oh Maker! Is she alright?!”

“I don’t know.” Cullen could feel the strange edge to his voice. It likely had to do with the way his chest and throat constricted and his sinuses burned. “Most of her injuries should heal, but the doctor is keeping her in a coma to try to prevent brain damage.”

“No…” Felicity brought her hand to her mouth as she shook her head, eyes shining with fresh tears. She really was a lovely woman. Such a shame. “That’s so awful. Cullen, I’m so sorry. I know how close you two are.”

The human sigh was supposed to be some sort of psychological reset button. He’d read that once somewhere. It was supposed to equalize oxygen in the lungs and stretch them out to a calming effect, allowing a person to refocus his energy. But the sigh that heaved in and out of Cullen did little to reset him. Anxiety and sadness still churned through his mind as he quietly responded to the lovely woman he couldn’t seem to love. “No you don’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t know how close we are,” he clarified, taking a single step back from her. “Or were, I suppose. I told you that we met in law school, which was true. But I didn’t tell you that we—” _Maker’s breath._ “We were together. For almost a year and a half. The distance between us eventually disintegrated whatever it was that we had but—” He sighed again. Still no reset. “But I loved her. I—I still love her.” Finally admitting it aloud left him lightheaded, and he feared for a moment that he might actually collapse under his relief.

Felicity had long since sunk onto the plush cushions of Cullen’s tan microfiber couch. The stich in her brow slowly shifted from one of concern to one that was much harder to read. It bore a touch of hurt, but, if he wasn’t mistaken, understanding also lingered there. Twin teardrops slipped silently from her eyes, though she made no effort to hide or wipe them away. “I know,” she puffed out, almost like a laugh, followed by a thick sniffle.

“What?” It was Cullen’s turn to be utterly befuddled.

She did laugh then—a sad, wan sound. “I know you love her, Cullen. I’ve seen the way you look at her. I would have to be pretty stupid not to see it, frankly.”

“But—”

“I thought it would pass,” she interrupted with a shrug, answering the question he’d yet to ask—why had she stayed this long? “You’re a great guy, Cullen. Maybe one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, honestly. I guess I just didn’t want to lose the opportunity to try and get you to see me. I thought I could get you to look at me the way you look at her.” Felicity averted her eyes to stare at the ground.

This was not how Cullen had imagined this would go. He’d thought there would be rage or sobbing or…something other than a quiet concession. Sitting on the couch beside her, he felt he had to say something else to ease her mind. “I never acted on it. I wouldn’t. And I don’t think Halise would have taken very kindly to my advances even if I had tried. Even now I’m fairly certain I’m resigning myself to a rather solitary fate.”

Felicity’s head whipped around to glare at him. The stare wasn’t angry. Contrarily, she looked at him in disbelief, as if she thought he was a complete idiot. “You can’t be serious,” she said, deadpan. Cullen sat in stunned silence. “I don’t mean the cheating thing, I know you’d never do something like that. But about Halise. Andraste’s tits, Cullen, you don’t really think she doesn’t still love you, do you? Her eyes when she looks at you…” She shook her head.

Cullen stared down at her dumbly. “What?”

“Just ask her,” Felicity answered as she stood to leave. She didn’t spare him another glance as she made for the door. “She’s going to wake up. And when she does, just ask her.” As she slipped out the door, she called behind her, “Goodbye, Cullen.”

*****

Halise’s throat was dryer than a year-old corpse rotting away in Hissing Wastes National Park. It was the first thing she noticed before opening her eyes. She wondered why her bed felt so strange. It wasn’t as soft as usual, and she didn’t really remember it leaning up at all. Also, something very, _very_ fucking heavy was laying across her thighs.

The fluorescent overhead light all but singed her corneas when she cracked open her eyes for even a scant second. This was assertedly not her house. Leaving her eyes closed, Halise dug around in her memories to try to figure out where she was. What was the last thing she could remember? She left Haven…couldn’t find her car keys…but then…she found them…but…Nothing. There was nothing after that.

Halise ventured to open her eyes again, slower this time. With every millimeter, what she saw told her more and more. Monitors and drab curtains—she was in a hospital. The rest of the room was dark—nighttime. Her mother sleeping against her father’s shoulder across the room—someone knew what had happened and told them. Curly, blonde head in her lap—Cullen was there. Wait. What?

Sure enough, as her eyes adjusted, she saw and felt Cullen laying across her lap. One of his arms was curled under his head while the other—where was the other? Halise felt a light tap of pressure on the back of her hand. It was fleeting, so she dismissed it at first. But when another tap came, she noticed the sensation of calloused skin. Well, she found Cullen’s other hand. A tiny thrill rushed through her body at the contact before she realized that she must have been in the hospital for some time for everyone to be so comfortable sleeping in such uncomfortable positions. The time had come to wake them up.

She cleared her brittle throat loudly before attempting to speak. Her voice came out cracked and hoarse. “Your head and arms are crazy fucking heavy,” she croaked at Cullen, who had already begun to stir.

His sleep-mussed head spun toward her, autumnal eyes wide in astonishment. Halise grinned wryly at him, happier to see his face than she would admit. She rasped out a little, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Cullen answered back. He blinked hard, as if he thought she would be gone when he opened his eyes again.

“Still here,” she chuckled.

“Thank the Maker,” he breathed.

Her mother and father had awoken, and rushed over at that exact second, chasing him out of the way. The sudden loss of Cullen’s touch blended with her realization that something quite awful must have happened overwhelmed Halise, sending her sputtering into tears without any form of warning.

The whole day was a whirlwind. Doctors came in and out, nurses came in and out, friends came in and out, but Halise’s parents and Cullen remained the constants. Halise learned that she’d been unconscious for five days, and that Sera and Leliana were working closely with the police to find out who tried to blow her up. She received home care instructions demanding that she stay home from work for at least another week, and when she protested, Cullen verbally rapped her knuckles. He chastised her for not wanting to take care of herself and trying to help the criminal who did this to her get away with it by giving herself brain damage. He was so severe when he said it, and she’d half expected her father to jump in on her behalf—workaholic that he was. But no, he actually looked almost proudly at Cullen while he berated her. Since when did those two gang up on her?

Halise insisted that her parents go back home to Redcliffe. Her father had already been gone too long without warning, and his station threatened to fall apart in his unplanned absence. Her mother’s clientele couldn’t keep seeing unfamiliar therapists either. She also needed them to tell Eirlan in person that she was okay—she knew how her sister worried. Begrudgingly, they both agreed to go home, but only after Cullen assured them he would be staying on Halise’s couch for the duration of her time at home.

“I don’t think Felicity will be terribly happy about that,” she remarked. She couldn’t have him that close to her. Her resolve would split and fray until she made a horrible mistake. She couldn’t do that to Felicity or to Cullen.

Cullen’s face was deathly serious when he looked at her. “She doesn’t have a say in the matter. She and I are no longer seeing each other.”

What? “What?!” _What?!_

He simply nodded and continued his discussion with her parents as if he hadn’t just changed their entire relationship dynamic. _What. The. Actual. Fuck?!_

After a nearly silent ride to Halise’s house in Cullen’s SUV, he helped her inside. She didn’t really have any trouble walking, per se, but it was nice to have a hand when the dizzy spell hit. He held onto her shoulders with a firm gentleness she’d never experienced with anyone but him, not allowing her to tumble or topple as he guided her in.

“You have a lovely house,” he said quietly, setting down his duffle bag by her navy blue couch.

“Grab onto my arms again and I’ll give you the grand tour,” she grinned. He obliged with a small smile of his own, choosing to hook his arm through her uninjured one. She pointed, letting him lead the way. “I think I only bought a three bedroom house because I figured it would be easier to sell later. I’m only just now becoming grateful for how flat it all is.”

Easy laughter flowed between them after that as she showed Cullen the “storage bedroom,” which was really just a room she’d turned into giant closet. Halise had made the second largest bedroom into something she liked to call “the dame den,” because it was basically a man cave, and she couldn’t very well have a she shed inside the house. The room was covered in bookshelves and video game and cartoon memorabilia, a large television and couch at the center of it all. She proudly pointed out her consoles and PC that she’d hooked up to the TV, inviting Cullen to challenge her prowess while they languished in her house. He smirked silently and led her to the master bedroom. She opened the door, said “The bedroom,” and closed it again abruptly, afraid she would ask him to stay in there with her if she actually looked at her bed. She had no reason to believe he was any more interested in her just because he and Felicity weren’t together anymore.

She saved her other favorite room for last. “This is the kitchen,” she boasted, making as grandiose a gesture as she could with the lingering soreness in her previously dislocated shoulder. The warm oak cabinets were accented by sparkling black granite countertops. The recessed lighting made more room for the hanging rack over the center island, from which dangled pots and pans of all shapes and sizes.

“You still like to cook, I see,” Cullen remarked with an awed smile.

“Yup,” she answered proudly. “But I was going to stop on the way home from Haven and grab groceries before Mom and Dad got here, so I’m afraid there isn’t much here. I don’t even have anything I can make dinner with, now that you mention it.”

“You shouldn’t be cooking tonight anyway,” he said, concern touching his voice. Halise looked up to see that his face matched his tone, worry creasing his brow. “I’ll go pick something up while you settle back in, and in the morning I’ll get groceries.”

Halise eyed him carefully before agreeing. They decided on a nearby Antivan place where she could get some fairly decent pasta, and he could get a pretty good steak. Cullen made triply sure she was settled on the couch before he left, and she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing at how seriously he took the placement of the remote control.

She watched TV quietly for a little while, completely losing track of the time. When she did look at the clock next, it seemed that nearly an hour had passed since Cullen left. Terror crept into Halise’s mind. The Antivan place wasn’t very far away, what could have been keeping him? What if Corypheus blew up Cullen’s car, too? How would she know? What if Archdemon found him and killed him? What if Archdemon was coming for her next?!

Just as Halise’s mind had spiraled out of control, leaving her in a puddle of panic on the sofa, a loud knock came at her door. Something in her gut screamed out that it had to be Archdemon. He was there to kill her. Halise leapt up from the couch much faster than she should have, sending her head spinning as she ran to her bedroom and fumbled through the closet for her S&W .45 semiautomatic pistol. Gun in hand, she snatched up a thick, dark envelope from the coffee table before approaching the door. The loud knock came again, more insistent this time. She did her best to mute her breathing when she slid the envelope up in front of the peephole, holding the muzzle of the gun low against the center of the wooden door. After no shots were fired at the changed light, she carefully replaced the envelope with her eye, ready to fire if she saw a weapon.

Cullen stood on the other side, fear and consternation evident on his face as he banged on the door with the side of his fist. Halise let out a broken sob, rushing to unlock the door and let him in.

“Thank the Maker,” he blurted, setting the food down on the kitchen counter nearest to the door. “I thought something happened to you! There was a line at the—Why are you crying?” He glanced down at her hand. “Why do you have a gun?”

Halise’s face melted into a confused blend of relief, shame, and horror as she puffed out a loud cry, letting her head drop against Cullen’s shoulder. He didn’t need to see her ugly cry face. His strong arms wrapped around her for the first time in seven years, and it only made her weep harder against him.

“Shh,” he soothed, hand stroking her hair. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

The two of them stayed like that for what felt like an age and an instant. Cullen helped her back to the couch and put her gun back in its case in her closet. They ate quietly, the sound of the television all that was necessary to keep the tension to a tolerable level. Not long after they finished, Halise announced that she was going to change for bed. She poopooed Cullen when he tried to help her to her room, walking relatively steadily to her door.

She carefully divested herself of the clothes and bra her mother had picked out for her and changed into her normal nightshirt. For the sake of whatever decency she had left, she added a pair of black yoga pants for her walk back into the living room. She arrived just in time to see Cullen’s bare, sculpted back before he dropped a worn blue shirt over his torso. A tiny zing fluttered low in her belly at the sight of him like that. The thinnest memory of the sensation of his skin and sinew tickled across her palms and under her fingernails, forcing the inside of her lip between her teeth to keep her from humming in appreciation.

When he turned, he sent a wide smile to her as she crossed the room. Halise beamed back, grateful for the return of their comfortable companionship. That was how she felt until her eyes drifted down to the shirt. The same School House Rock graphics sat boldly on the front of the garment, despite how they had faded with time. The sight stopped her dead in her tracks halfway across the room from Cullen.

Had he brought the shirt on purpose? What was he trying to do? Her lower lip began to quiver, and she felt new tears threatening to take the place of the ones that had only recently dried away. Cullen’s smile faded quickly at the sight of her, and she had to ask, “Are you serious with that shirt?”

A hundred expressions passed across his face in an instant. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, hand reaching for the back of his neck. “I’ve been wearing this shirt to sleep since you bought it for me. I just grabbed it. I—I didn’t even think—”

“You what?” she interrupted. A tear slid down her cheek. “You’ve been…” Had he really?

Cullen closed the distance between them with two long strides. His hand cupped her jaw, the pad of his thumb wiping away the mark of her confused emotions. Amber eyes bored into her, pensive and flashing to and fro as he searched her face for his words. Tears continued their determined march down her cheeks, reinvigorated at the intimacy of the moment. She nibbled on the inside of her lip to stop its trembling. What was happening?

“Do you still love me?” he asked bluntly.

Halise’s eyes widened. “Do I—What?”

“Do you still love me?” Cullen repeated, more halting and uncertain than he had been the first time he asked.

She was caught. Cornered. He knew and it upset him. That must have been why Felicity broke up with him. She found out that Halise still loved him from Mythal-knew-where and broke it off with him out of jealousy or spite or some other unkind emotion, and now he was angry at her for it. That had to be it. There was no way he still loved her after all that time. There was no way.

Looking Cullen squarely in the eyes, her view of his face lightly blurred by her tears, Halise decided to answer him. She had never been a liar.

“Yes. I still love you.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT HAPPENS NOW?!!!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!!!
> 
> Also, there are two songs, which you can listen to in proper succession [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nB4hLP5yKM), or one at a time [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDugIEoFU9M) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7glflsJaYKM).

“You’re supposed to share a room with _how_ fucking many people?!” Halise exclaimed as the DUSL mock trial courtroom emptied after the first day of competition. Expectedly, both Cullen’s and Halise’s teams advanced to the finals for the next day.

Cullen chuckled at her indignance. She’d been a powerful force all day. Powerful and absolutely breathtaking. In an understated black suit with a pencil skirt and white button down—and those black patent heels…Maker those heels—she was stunning. It was as though the intended drab of the suit set off the rest of her exceptional features.

“There is a moot court competition this weekend, too, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Cullen began in answer. “The school didn’t budget properly for four teams to travel all at once, so all eight of us are expected to share a junior suite.”

Halise shook her head wildly. “Uh uh, no fucking way.” Her arms crossed under her exquisite breasts. Very distracting. “You’re coming to stay with me.”

“I’m sorry?” He was certain he’d misheard her.

“You heard me. You. Are. Coming. To. Stay. With. Me.” A toothy smile popped on and off of her face in an instant. “I’m sure you’re all about school spirit and team camaraderie and all that, but—call me crazy—I just can’t picture you sharing a bed with two other people.” She took a small step forward, nearly pressing herself against him in the midst of the exiting throng. Her voice dropped down low as she stared into his eyes. “Sharing a bed with just one person, on the other hand, I can absolutely picture.” 

Blood rushed up Cullen’s cheeks and ears, and he’d become rather certain a little rushed elsewhere as well. “I—Um—Maker’s breath,” he sighed, frustrated at his inarticulateness.

Halise chewed on the inside of her lip, her rich harlequin green eyes darting down to his mouth before meeting his gaze once more. She was bolder than he’d ever dared to be. “I’ll cook you dinner,” she added in a sing-song tone.

“Sold,” he finally managed.

A sly grin slipped over Halise’s lips. “So food sealed the deal, huh?” she mused as she started make her way to the door. Cullen trailed behind her like a besotted puppy. “I’ll take you to the hotel to get your shit and then we’ll head to my place. I am genuinely anxious to see if you’re actually any good at video games.” She threw a little smirk over her shoulder, and he mirrored her expression.

It was as if she thrived on setting him off balance. She put him at ease with her cool humor and foul mouth. But just as quickly, she would prod at him, tipping him into nervousness or mild fear or arousal. Without a thought, she’d set him back to rights with a joke or good natured jab. It was exhilarating in the strangest way.

When they entered her apartment, Cullen noted with some level of relief that the common area was fairly neat and cozy. Halise and Sera both seemed like rather chaotic women in their own ways, and he’d half expected their apartment to look as beautifully offbeat as their personalities. Two large black bookshelves sat against the wall near the couch, both covered in an incredibly eclectic mix of academia, fantasy, fiction, sci-fi, and programming books. Beyond that, an open concept kitchen with a cutout wall gave Cullen a peek at the white and gray motif, though shockingly blue touches stood out here and there.

“Sera’s at her mom’s for the weekend,” Halise chirped, dropping her purse on a side table and throwing her tote underneath. “She just lives a few minutes away, but Sera likes to go check on her some weekends. Not a great neighborhood,” she explained.

“Oh?” Cullen was genuinely interested. He’d spoken to Sera a bit more over the past few months, but hadn’t learned much beyond what was going on in her life at the exact moment of their conversation. “Is her father not around?”

Halise turned back toward him, cocking her head and sending him a strange little smile as she loosened her hair from its ponytail. She righted her curls with a quick tousle at her scalp. “Technically, neither of her parents is around. They died in a really heinous crash when she was seven. Her mom adopted her after not too long though. She’s a really sweet lady. Brave as shit too.”

Cullen raised his hand to the back of his neck, a bit sheepish at having made any assumptions about a woman he barely knew. “Ah,” was all he could reply to that, deciding instead to change the subject. “How did you two become roommates? She’s only in undergrad, right?”

Halise sat down on the couch with a chuckle, pulling off her shoes and massaging the arches of her feet with her thumbs. “Denerim U has a housing pairing program that goes cross-grad. I never really figured out how we got paired up, honestly. And she didn’t even want me as a roommate in the beginning. Didn’t want to live with another elf.” She laughed again. “She’s not exactly about ‘elfy shit.’ But it just took one really crass conversation between the two of us for her to warm up to me.”

That brought a smile to Cullen’s face. Of course the two of them would bond over cursing.

She stood and made her way toward the hallway, beckoning for him to follow her with a quick flick of two fingers. He complied, bringing his duffle bag with him down the hall. Halise opened one of three doors—only two of them were closed, leaving the bathroom openly visible. He’d seen most of her room before on their video chats, but was surprised as how much cooler it was than the rest of the apartment, at least by a few degrees. Cullen set his bag down on the un-mussed side of the bed, assuming that was where she didn’t sleep given how completely disheveled the other side was. That was a bit more of what he’d expected.

“I’m going to wash my hands and change,” she said offhandedly as she bent over to grab a tee shirt and some soft black pants off the floor. She didn’t crouch, she bent. The movement caused her skirt to slip up her thighs, inching closer and closer to where they met. Cullen’s pulse pounded in his ears while he stared, ashamed—but not enough to look away. When she rose and turned back to him, he made his best attempt to let his face go blank, but felt his wide eyes betraying him. _Bastards._

Halise’s tongue darted out, pulling her lower lip into her mouth before letting it slip back out, reddened and glistening. Cullen clenched his jaw and swallowed so hard she must have heard it. He believed his suspicions confirmed when a slow smile spread across her lips. “Feel free to change into something less…suit-y,” she said as she sauntered past him to the bathroom across the hall.

She’d done it again. He thought about it as he changed into a burgundy Henley and blue jeans. She knocked him off balance only to right him with her casual, seemingly intentional awkwardness. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know if she even knew she was doing it. It was just her way, he suspected, and it made her all the more endearing.

They reconvened back in the living room, and Halise brought up dinner. “How does macaroni and cheese sound?” she asked, walking into the kitchen on the balls of her bare feet.

“Fattening,” he replied with a small laugh as he followed behind her.

Halise wiggled her eyebrows and grinned at him. “Not the way I make it. Almost no butter, lowfat milk, protein noodles. Eh?” She poked him in the stomach. “Plus, Mr. I-Can’t-Endanger-My-Rock-Hard-Abs Rutherford, one fatty meal won’t kill you. I even have some really good chicken sausage I can add to yours for that extra boost of good-for-you shit.”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, you win. Fatten me up at your leisure.”

“Excellent!” she crowed, clapping her hands together with a giggle. “You care if I play some music while I cook? Sera hates it when I do. I have to do a _lot_ of things quietly when we’re both home.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He really didn’t.

“Great! You want a beer? I prefer porters and stouts, but Sera has a few IPAs and hefeweizens that I could replace tomorrow night.” She leaned into the open refrigerator as she removed the butter and milk.

“Something dark sounds nice,” he answered.

She cast a coy look in his direction. “Doesn’t it just?” she asked lasciviously. Yet again, Cullen was flustered. Halise’s quick, piquant wit and knack for double entendre was without compare in even the sharpest and crudest of Templars. He’d never met a woman like her.

She smiled to herself, withdrawing two dark bottles from the refrigerator and popping the caps off with practiced ease. She handed him one and quickly shooed him out of the kitchen. He took his place on the couch just as music began to play from a small, brick-like speaker resting on the ledge of the opening between the living room and the kitchen. The stove was just on the other side of the opening, and Cullen casually glanced over as Halise set to work cooking. Without looking up, she called out, “You can turn on the TV for a little visual stimulus if you like.”

 _Maker’s breath._ He didn’t need the television for visual stimulus. Halise’s body swayed and undulated with the slow beat of song after song pumping out of the speaker. She worked seamlessly as she danced and sang along, stirring slowly as she rolled her chest, shoulders, and head sensually. Cullen knew his mouth was hanging open, but he kept watching, even as the scent of sausage and cheese sauce filled the apartment. She had to know he was watching, didn’t she? But she never really looked up at him—never caught his eyes devouring her.

By the time she did look up, beam stuck firmly to her face, Cullen was sweating. True, the apartment had warmed while she cooked, but not nearly enough to make him sweat. The beading moisture at his hairline was purely Halise’s doing. He hadn’t even touched his beer yet when she brought over two dishes, both covered in gooey cheese-covered pasta—one with thick slices of cooked, caramelized sausage piled in the corner. She handed the second to him.

“I figured you might want to put the meat in at your own pace,” she said. Her eyes widened after a moment. She’d obviously caught her own slip-up, and her cheeks flushed. The sight of her flustered face made Cullen smirk, but it also made him want to get her flustered again. He kept the thought in his back pocket.

The two of them conversed and laughed comfortably over dinner, which incidentally was delicious. They talked about their professors, ideas for work after law school, and upcoming video games they swore up and down to make time for. Eventually, Halise actually started up one of the consoles, handing Cullen a controller with a grin. He smiled back at her, and they shot at each other and at random teenagers in Par Vollen and the Free Marches who cursed them with uncreative strings of profanities for the next two hours.

As the hour grew later, a pit of nervous excitement grew in Cullen’s gut, vying for space alongside the macaroni. Halise had been making not so subtle hints all day—for the past few months, really. Maker, he wanted her so badly.

But the day had worn on a bit unflatteringly for Cullen. As confident as he had been at mock trial, he’d still been under a lot of stress and pressure, and he could feel the stench of it building under his arms. He would not subject Halise to that. While she shut off the console and TV, he watched her fondly before asking, “Would it be alright if I took a shower?”

“Of course,” she answered. “I think I’m going to get ready for bed and go over my file for tomorrow one more time while you’re doing that. Gotta get a leg up on the competition.” She winked at him, then flushed again with a tiny groan, covering her eyes in her particularly charming brand of embarrassment. “Use anything you like in there. There’s an extra towel under the sink.” She waved him off, peeking out from between her fingers.

Cullen nodded at her with a little smirk. He closed the door over in the bathroom, leaving a miniscule crack through which he could hear Halise milling about in the apartment. The shower was comfortable enough, though the shelves were filled to the brim with various flowery and perfumed soaps. Out of curiosity, he opened a few of the bottles marked “shampoo” and “conditioner,” stalling when he found the one he instantly recognized as Halise’s. It smelled strongly of blueberries with a subtle hint of minty eucalyptus. He wouldn’t use it, he just wanted to smell it up close—to know what brand it was, perhaps. Why, he couldn’t really say, though it may have had something to do with missing her during the months at a time when they couldn’t see each other in person.

When he turned off the water, he heard more music, and Halise’s voice singing along. The song had a carnal feel to it, slow and melodic. As Cullen stepped out of the shower to dry himself off, he heard some of the words, almost moaned out by Halise.

 

 _All that you are_  
_Is all that I need_  
_Sunset in your eyes_  
_Light me with your loving_  
_I'm searching for the thrill_  
_It's you, you make me feel_  
_You make me feel_  


_Touch me with no hands_  
_Hold me with your eyes_  
_Unwind me with your mind tonight_  
_Speak with no words_  
_Show me and I'm all yours_  
_Show me and I'm all yours_

 

The sound of her tore his self-control to shreds, replacing it with an unfamiliar sort of resolve as he slipped his glasses up his nose. He needed her. He needed to feel her so badly. It didn’t even bother him when he realized he’d forgotten to bring any fresh clothes into the bathroom. _Fuck it,_ he thought, taking a page from Halise’s book. Wrapping the dampened black towel around his hips and tying it off, he stepped out of the bathroom, enrapt at the sound of her voice and thoughts of her body.

His heart stopped when he crossed the threshold into her bedroom—just stopped beating entirely. Halise sat cross-legged on her bed in a lavender nightgown, if it could even be considered that. It was a silken slip of a thing with thin straps and a light lace band that ghosted across the tops of her breasts. It cinched under her bosom, amplifying her bust while outlining her slim waistline, as though someone had designed the garment with her in mind. Her legs were bare, and the hem of the tiny dress rucked up around the joint at her hip where the lanky limbs began. As a stark contrast, she held a thick stack of stapled paper in her hand that she read as she sang.

Until she saw Cullen. He knew his breathing was ragged, but when her eyes fell over his body, her lips parted slowly. Halise’s own breaths became obvious with the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders and her perfect breasts. “Fuck me,” she puffed out incredulously with a little laugh.

Spell of silence broken, Cullen chuckled as he crossed toward her bed. He tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and kneeled on the edge of the mattress, leaning in to brush his lips across her earlobe. She shivered and hissed in a breath, a sound that went straight to his rapidly hardening cock. “As you wish,” he rasped, drawing her ear between his teeth—bolder and more terrified than he had ever been with a woman.

A broken little mewl flew from Halise’s throat to his ear, accompanied by a hot, damp sigh against his neck. He trailed open-mouthed kisses and nips down her jaw, savoring the taste of her skin until he reached her lips. She met him fervently, and he heard the sound of a stack of paper being thrown clear across the room before her arms twined around his neck. Both of his hands gripped her waist, relishing the sensation of the slippery fabric over her understated muscle. Their kiss deepened, tongues dancing luridly, teeth occasionally nipping, breathing becoming more rushed.

Halise whined adorably when Cullen pulled back. He stared into her lust-darkened eyes, flicking his gaze down to her kiss-swollen lips. He loved the sound of her voice. He needed to hear her in every way. “You said you have to be quiet most of the time, right?” he asked, a husky timbre overtaking him.

“Mmhmm,” she replied, chewing on the inside of her lip.

He smiled at her, crawling off the edge of the bed and kneeling on the floor. Gently, he put his hands on her calves, looking into her eyes in a way that asked her permission before he would move any further. Halise nodded as a heavy breath left her body. Cullen delicately uncrossed her legs, and, less delicately, tugged her to the edge of the mattress. She squeaked and giggled, stopping abruptly when she saw the look in Cullen’s eye, her own darkening more by the second.

“I want you to sing for me, Halise,” he very nearly growled. “Because I’m going to make you scream.” He could see and hear her labored breathing as the song stopped, but the music for the next track started up slowly. Just in time.

He watched her face, wanton as his hands slid up her calves, then her thighs—achingly slowly, a tense friction between their skin. His fingers tiptoed up to the band of her panties—lacy pink little things—and she lifted herself just enough for him to tug them off. He crept under her, slipping his shoulders under her thighs to tilt her up to him. The scent of her arousal hit him, sending a rumble up from his chest before he kissed the inside of her thigh. He gave her other thigh a little love-bite just as she began to sing, voice tattered and yearning in the most beautiful way.

 

_I only miss you when the sun goes down_

_Oh, your voice is my favorite sound_

_Swaying like the palm trees_

_You and me we're poetry_

_Painting stories with our lips_

 

Cullen listened to her singing as he pressed a kiss against her sex. Halise faltered only for an instant, stimulating and encouraging him further. His tongue ventured out, caressing her slick folds. He delighted in the taste of her.

 

_You're like a wave washing over me_

_Pulling me underneath_

_Sinking slowly_

_You're like a wave washing over me_

_I'll stay underneath_

_Drifting slowly_

 

Deciding he had teased her enough, he found her clit with his lips, and let his tongue glide across it to a staggering effect. Halise whimpered and trembled between words. Cullen looked up just in time to see her head fall back and feel her fingers tangle into his damp hair. He repeated the action, but this time he let his tongue slide up and down her sensitive bundle of nerves over and over.

 

_Hey-ey-ey-ey, Hey-ey-ey-ey_

_Oh Hey-ey-ey-ey, Ey, ey, ey_

 

The lyrics came out as broken moans when Cullen’s hands wandered further up her nightgown, stroking her lithe back. One came to rest against her hip as he continued to work her, but the other ventured further. His fingers travelled under her waistband until he felt the soft swell of her breasts.

 

_Foreign feelings that I can't ignore_

_Oh I never felt like this before_

_What's a king without a queen_

_You could be my everything_

_Can't you see?_

 

He palmed her breast first, feeling the glorious weight of it before running his fingers across her pearled nipple. She gasped at the very moment she sang the word, “king,” sending even more blood to his uncomfortably stiff erection. The towel still hung from his hips, grazing him softly every so often in a way that staved off the pressure that would otherwise have broken his resolve.

_You're like a wave washing over me_

_Pulling me underneath_

_Sinking slowly_

_You're like a wave washing over me_

_I'll stay underneath_

_Drifting slowly_

 

Cullen nibbled lightly on Halise’s clit, forcing a shiver over her whole body and voice. The arm holding her mostly upright shook under the force with which she clenched the blanket beneath her. He pinched and circled her nipple, relishing every hitch in her breath that resulted from his impassioned ministrations.

 

_Hey-ey-ey-ey, Hey-ey-ey-ey_

_Oh Hey-ey-ey-ey, Ey, ey, ey_

 

The hand that gripped Halise’s hip glided over the top of her thigh and under Cullen’s lips. He sucked on her tender mound as he circled her opening with a calloused finger. She trembled again when he slipped it into her.

_Hey-ey-ey-ey, Hey-ey-ey-ey_

_Oh Hey-ey-ey-ey, Ey, ey, ey_

 

Cullen hooked his finger inside her, seeking and finding the soft, sensitive spot at her core. He massaged the spot, tongue and teeth pulsing away against her clit. Halise rolled her hips subtly against him, telling him she was close. Maker, she was so tight and so wet.

Somehow, Halise managed to hold on until after the lyrics ended. The music continued, but her squeaks and mewls came between her jagged breaths in lieu of any more words. She let her torso fall back against the bed, tearing Cullen’s hand from her nipple, but allowing him to grip her supple waist. Her entire body was taught and ready. He sucked hard on her clit, flicking his tongue across it with renewed zeal.

It wasn’t long before he felt her inner walls clench around his finger. She came with the most magnificent shattered scream. It rose from deep within her, shredding its way out of her quivering body. Cullen pushed her through her orgasm, willing it to last as long as possible. Halise gasped and cried out twice more before her breathing slowed.

A deeply satiated sigh emanated from her as Cullen stood. He gazed down at her, surveying his trembling handiwork. Remnants of her orgasm lingered on his chin, so he wiped his forearm across his face before setting upon her again. He carefully lifted her and placed her back down so her entire boneless body was situated on the bed. Before he could do anything else, her soft hand found his cheek, turning him to look her in the eyes.

Halise smiled up at him so disarmingly—sweetly, really—making him pliant and easy for her to tug down for a languid kiss. Cullen felt her pull his towel off and palm his cock. Her slender fingers wrapped around his shaft, prompting him to thrust into her hand twice. Rending his lips from hers with a rumble and every ounce of self-control he had, he helped her shimmy out of her nightgown.

He stilled at the sight of her bare form, heart beating wildly. “Maker, Halise…” he sighed. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The most beautiful _anything_ I’ve every seen.”

Unwilling to wait any longer to touch her, Cullen situated himself between her legs. He hovered above her, kissing from her plush lips down the column of her throat to her pert, dusky pink peaks. Halise hissed in a breath when he drew one into his mouth, stroking and sucking it firmly. She latched onto his cock again and pumped him slowly, fraying his tenuous resolution. Withdrawing once more, he looked in the direction of his bag. “I brought—Uh—” His mind blanked at the name of the little latex things, too focused on what he could do once he was wearing one.

“Don’t need one,” Halise purred beneath him. “I have an IUD.”

“Maker’s breath, I never thought an acronym could be so sexy,” he replied a bit too sincerely.

Halise laughed loudly—such a wonderful sound. She yanked him back down, bringing their lips together briefly before moving to nibble on his ear. “I want you, Cullen. I _need_ you. Please,” she murmured hoarsely.

Cullen groaned at that, and let his hips drop, dragging his length along her slickness with enough friction to make her whimper his name. Taking himself in hand, he guided his cock into her, wresting a noisy cry from both of them. He hilted himself into her slowly, letting her adjust to the intrusion. She fit around him like a glove. Every space within her was filled with him. The Maker never created anything more perfect than her.

Gently, he withdrew and thrust into her. He drew a gasp and a sigh from Halise, spurring him into action as the two of them found their rhythm. Her legs encircled his waist, allowing him such deep access to her that he knocked into her cervix. Halise keened at the contact, and he moved faster, driving into her as deep as their bodies would let him. Her nails scraped along his scalp and dug into his ass. He licked and nipped at her neck and the blade of her ear, the only solution he could fathom for his desire to devour her—to feel one with her. Likewise, she sucked at the crook of his neck, biting him hard and pulling another growl from him. The sound seemed to thrill her, and her nails dug harder into his flesh. She was close again, and so was he. When her breath stopped in her throat, he thrust into her as hard and fast as he could. Another broken cry poured out of her as she toppled over the edge a second time, the tightness of her and sight of her pleasure dragging Cullen over with a roar. With a few more ragged thrusts, he spilled himself into her. Wave after wave of pleasure overtook him until he was completely spent, panting into Halise’s blueberry scented hair as he curled into her.

He stayed inside her for a few moments, an exchange of soft, satisfying kisses holding him there. When he looked down at her smiling face, no longer lustful but filled with something else—adoration perhaps?—he felt a shift in his existence. He knew before that moment, but it was the first time he might have the courage to say it. Halise was his favorite person, and all he wanted to do was be with her. He just wanted to see her, to spend time with her, to be by her side. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and her eyes closed with a contended little sigh. “Halise?” he murmured.

“Hmm?” she replied happily.

“I love you.” He said it. And he meant it.

Halise’s eyes opened again, brilliant green irises staring up at him—appraising him in her way—with a tiny furrow in her brow. After a moment, her gaze softened, and she said the words that would ring clearly in his mind for the rest of his life.

“I love you, Cullen.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* Can you picture it? Cullen in a towel? Hmm?! Yeah...
> 
> The lyrics in this chapter were taken from two of Alina Baraz & Galimatias's songs. The first was "Show Me" which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDugIEoFU9M), and the second was "Drift" which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7glflsJaYKM). These two only have one album together so far, but it's sexy AF, and sounds awesome. I linked a full playthrough at the top, so feel free to give the whole thing a listen.
> 
> Also, I made a quick playlist of a couple of the songs I think Halise was listening to in the kitchen, and you can find that [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsRYzmc0rVpzzTdGIqNc7oL6kQgLpGDRw) in case you're curious (it's just four songs).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW again!!!
> 
> You're welcome?

“Yes. I still love you.”

She said it. It was true. Cullen froze for a moment, unable to move or breathe. Halise still loved him. And he loved her so much. They loved each other. _But…what now?_ he thought.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say and do. He wanted to tell her he still loved her, that he’d missed her like a flower missed the warm rays of the sun at night, that he needed her like a drowning man needed oxygen—so very desperately. His breathing finally resumed, however slowly and tentatively, but he realized almost too late that he had been inching toward her. He could feel the uneven cadence of her warm, worried breath on his lips, see the minute details of the crease in her brow as he felt his own soften. His hand still rested on her jaw, tears flowing unbidden and unbridled down her cheeks, caressing his thumb as they slipped past.

As if testing his own instincts for faults, Cullen allowed himself to lean in a bit more. He stared into Halise’s glittering, viridescent eyes, searching for a sign—something that would tell him what to do. Almost unconsciously, he let his thumb swipe across her cheek to wipe away more tears, ineffectual as it may have been against their numbers. But something shifted in her expression then.

Halise was the first to break the stillness that had settled over them. Unexpectedly, she turned her head in Cullen’s hand, shut her eyes tight, and placed a long, soft kiss on his palm. When she turned back to face him, a watery kind of hope seemed to linger in her eyes. He had his answer.

Need overtook him. He surged into her, bringing their lips crashing together almost painfully in a frenzied kiss. There was little ceremony to it, just a raw hunger similar to that of a man who’d somehow managed to survive without eating for seven years. Cullen finally found his sustenance again, and she sobbed into his lips as her uninjured right arm swung up around his neck, fingers tangling into the back of his hair. Her left palm settled against his waist. His hands travelled into her hair, across her back, over her arms—wherever he could reach without disentangling them.

Maker, her body felt like home. She was the place he’d felt most comfortable. She was where he’d longed to return for years without ever really comprehending it. She was what he couldn’t realize he’d missed so badly until he had her again. Halise’s softness, her firmness, her movements, her stillness—all were to him as statues of Andraste to the faithful, to be prayed to, worshiped, given offerings, kept safe against those who would do her harm.

Cullen dared to slide his tongue across her lips, his silent prayers answered with their parting. He clung to her, pressing her as tightly as he could against him as their tongues twined together. Halise crept up onto her toes to meet him, though he thought himself cruel to force her to accommodate him so. The hands that had been mapping her body were set to a new task when he slipped them under her backside. He squeezed the soft muscle there, exhilarated by the little groan she let escape into his mouth, which he swallowed down as a parched man might gulp down cool water.

He lifted Halise then, her lithe legs ensnaring his waist with little effort. He couldn’t stop kissing her. For a moment he wondered if he would ever stop again, but the thought passed quickly. Of course he wouldn’t stop. He would kiss her until neither of them had breath left in their lungs.

Overcome with his want for more of her, Cullen started blindly in the direction he thought the bedroom was. “Wrong way,” Halise panted against his lips, tugging at his old favorite shirt to point him in the right direction. He followed her guidance, passing quickly through the open doorway into her room. Coolness still hung in the air, making it much easier to tell that they had crossed the threshold.

Her bed wasn’t far, and he ached for her. His cock pulsed and twitched and filled for her, and he was grateful then that he’d opted for his sweatpants. They hung loose around him, preventing the uncomfortable press of even his boxer-briefs as he lowered Halise onto the bed on her back. For the first time since their lips met, he backed away from her just long enough to remove his shirt.

“Fuck you for still looking like that,” Halise chuckled despite the few straggling tears trickling down her cheeks. There was a heady timbre to her voice as her eyes wandered over his bare torso.

Cullen gave her a crooked little grin before he reached for her long nightshirt, slipping it off carefully to avoid hurting her left shoulder. When her breasts tumbled free, he let out a little sigh. “Fuck _you_ for still looking like _that_ ,” he echoed hungrily.

Scarlet flushed up her cheeks, sending a different kind of satisfaction rolling through his body. But before she had a chance to respond, he hunched back over her, kissing her urgently as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her pants, careful to latch onto her panties as well. Just as he slipped them off, he felt her fingernails creep down against his hipbones, tugging his sweatpants down and sending his cock springing free. She stroked it, running her thumb across the tip to spread the bead of precum over the head while he kicked himself free of his pants. Their lips had yet to part a second time, and he groaned into her mouth, nipping at her lip to show his appreciation for her attentions.

Cullen managed to mutter something indistinct against her lips about whether she still had an IUD, and Halise moaned out a “Yes” as he circled her clit with his fingers. Formalities satisfied and mutual desire winning out, he situated his elbows under her knees, folding her a bit below him, and sheathed himself into her slick core. A ragged sough escaped both of them in unison.

Their desperation for one another manifested in the frenetic pace they worked up to all too quickly. Cullen was controlled for the first few thrusts, plunging into her deeply and evenly, feet planted on her hardwood floors as her fingers carded through his hair. But that didn’t last long. Halise ran her tongue along his scar, and he opened his eyes just long enough to see the lust and love comingling in her eyes. It was a look he’d missed for seven years, and it made him feverish. He knew it wasn’t going to last long their first time together anyway, so he let go, plundering all he could of her in what time they had left.

Halise certainly didn’t seem to mind. Her head fell back as she keened at their quickened pace, exposing her neck to him. He sucked and bit at the bare flesh for a moment, avoiding her now miniscule scar, before encircling her throat with his fingers. Another broken little “Yes” flew from her kiss swollen lips, and he squeezed lightly, exerting just enough pressure and control over her to remind her that _he_ was the one taking her. She gasped and groaned and writhed under him, her sounds pushing him to the edge. It was only when her breath hitched in her throat that he gratefully realized she was with him. With the thumb of his other hand, Cullen rubbed hard, harried little circles against her clit. Her whole body tensed and shook, electrified by the orgasm that tore through her. He watched her eyes roll back, felt the cry rise up in her throat against his grip, and came with the knowledge that he’d done that to her.

He’d once heard an orgasm referred to as “the little death,” and he finally understood what that meant. Cullen was blinded, made deaf and dumb, and every bone in his body melted in an instant. He collapsed onto Halise, the rise and fall of her breasts under his head his only inkling that they’d somehow survived.

A little jolt beneath him, accompanied by a tiny sob, brought his head up lighting fast. Halise was crying again, sending panic tearing through Cullen’s mind. Had he hurt her? She was still in recovery after all, and perhaps he’d been too rough in his desperation to feel her again. “Halise, what’s wrong?” he asked, stroking her cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.

Her bright eyes met his again, her lower lip quivering until she sucked it between her teeth. “I’ve just missed you so fucking much,” she wept.

Cullen’s heart shattered into millions of infinitesimally small pieces then. He quickly extricated himself from her, crawling up onto the bed and pulling her into his lap. His arms wrapped around her, and their bodies curled into one another. “I missed you, too, Halise,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. “I missed you so much, some days it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Halise sobbed harder at that, tears wetting the bare crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

Cullen pulled his head back, holding hers gently in both hands to ensure she would be looking into his eyes when he spoke. He needed her to know that he meant what he was saying. “It is _not_ your fault,” he told her. “Neither of us had any control over what happened, and if we had, I’m certain you wouldn’t have let it. I love you. I’ve loved you since you spilled coffee on my shirt and cursed so much I thought we would both burst into flames.”

A smile flew onto Halise’s face and a laugh burst from her chest, slowly piecing his heart back together and spreading a mirroring grin up his lips. “You never need to apologize for what happened,” he continued. “You did nothing wrong, and it’s all in the past. I love you, and that’s all that matters to me. Alright?”

She nodded in his hands, and Cullen let out a sigh of relief. He brought her to his lips, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her mouth. He’d waited seven years to be with her again, and nothing she could say or think could make him believe she hadn’t been worth it.

In all that time, he’d forgotten how still she was when she slept. Her stillness seemed to hold him down as well. Ordinarily, his sleep was fitful and fraught with nightmares. But with her lying against him, he woke from dreamless slumber nearly nine hours after he heard her breathing even out and slow. He hadn’t slept like that since before he could remember.

Cullen hated to wake her. After all, he’d heard that being in a coma was actually quite exhausting. Well…he’d read that. He’d spent hours researching brain swelling and comas while he sat in the hospital with her, though it hadn’t done much to assuage his fears. Slowly and deliberately, he reached for his phone, grateful that he’d run back out to get it before falling asleep. He had several texts from Varric, Solas, and Josephine asking after Halise, and an email from Cassandra letting him know which cases she’d been able to trail, plead, and what needed to be done when he came back. She also asked about Halise, but it was embedded in her usual no-nonsense information dump. Sera, to his surprise, had also texted him to say that she and Dorian would be stopping by after work that day. Cullen had no earthly idea where she’d gotten his phone number, but didn’t want to put too much thought into it, lest he become unnerved.

With one hand, he replied to all of his waiting messages. He didn’t think his thumb against the screen was making much noise, but Halise apparently felt differently. She groaned, her voice hoarse with sleep as she lifted her slender hand from his chest and pushed his phone away from his eyes. “Mmm, shut uuuup,” she whined with a bleary squint, smearing her face against his chest and shoulder with a huff. He couldn’t help his smile at the sight and sensation of her squishing her nose into him.

Her voice was muffled by his body when she spoke again. “Did I fall into another coma, or is it just really late?”

Cullen puffed out a laugh, shaking her head against his chest. “It’s a little late,” he admitted, “but not terribly. Besides, you need your rest. If you’ll allow me to disturb you one more time, though, I can go to the store and get some groceries. Then I can make us breakfast.” He ran his hand under her messy red curls, tucking them behind her pointed ear so he could see her smushed profile.

She’d balled up her fists under her, but the same hand that had pushed away his phone reached out, wrapping around his waist. Halise squeezed him while she objected with a muted, “Mm mm,” and shake of her head. It tickled a bit, and he laughed again.

“You can go back to sleep when I go,” he offered. “When you wake up you’ll have nice, hot scrambled eggs waiting for you.” She rebuffed him with another little noise and shake of her head. “Orlesian toast?” he tried.

Halise turned against him, one green eye opening to peer up at his grinning face. Only the corner of her mouth moved with her reply. “With maple syrup and fresh raspberries?”

Cullen’s grin widened. “Of course. Whatever you want, my love.”

Her half-closed eye widened. He realized what he’d called her and was prepared to recant until the visible side of her mouth lifted into a smile. Halise turned her head back out to face him, her whole face sleepily lit up like a lightbulb under frosted glass—fuzzy, but no less bright. “I still love you,” she rasped.

His chest swelled with emotion. This was it. This was the moment he’d been awaiting for so long. Not the sex or the immediate afterglow, but the morning after. She still loved him the morning after, and that made what had happened real. It wasn’t a one-off or a one-night stand or a fling or a dalliance. They were in love again. Perhaps they had been all this time, but it was tangible in that moment. “I still love you,” was his soft reply, embellished with a long kiss against her forehead.

Eventually, after several false starts stopped by languid kisses from one of them to the other, Cullen left Halise’s bed. He dressed and made his way to the front door, grabbing her keys on the way out so as not to wake her again when he came back. He locked it behind him, grinning like a fool the whole way. It wasn’t a dream. He had his love back.

*****

Food. The smell of something food wafted into Halise’s room, cracking her eyes open before she had a chance to reawaken fully. She sat up and blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust to the very late morning light. _That’s right,_ she thought, _Cullen’s cooking me Orlesian toast. He’s here. Cullen is here._  

She smiled to herself, slipping out of bed and reaching for her recklessly discarded nightshirt. Throwing it onto her nude frame, she stepped out into the living room and made her way to the kitchen. The eggy, buttery scent of Orlesian toast lingered in the air, drifting into her nose to a pleasurable effect. As she entered the kitchen, she saw Cullen in all of his domestic glory.

He hadn’t bothered to tame his hair before leaving for groceries that morning, and his golden curls sprang a bit wildly from his scalp. His powerful shoulders were covered by a charcoal tee shirt, and hunched slightly over the pan in which he was concocting their breakfast and that intoxicating smell. Blue jeans sat low on his hips, eliciting a little sigh from Halise at his finely sculpted ass. Bare feet flexed against the hardwood floor as his stance shifted to get a different angle with the spatula in his strong hands. _How does one find someone this incredible twice by sheer force of universal luck?_

Halise tiptoed up behind him, sliding her hands around his waist and squeezing her body flush against his back. She rested her forehead on the nape of his neck, pressing a little kiss to the last bit of bare skin not covered by the collar of his shirt.

“Good morning.” She didn’t need to see Cullen’s face to know he was smiling. His voice betrayed everything—happy and soft and full of love. “Did you sleep alright after I left?”

“A little cooler without your body heat, but yes. Incidentally, have I ever told you that sleeping with you is like sleeping on the surface of the sun?” Halise’s lips brushed against his smooth skin while she spoke, curling into a sly smile when she thought about how hot he was—literally and figuratively.

Cullen laughed, jostling her head with the shudder of his body. “You may have, once or twice.”

Halise inhaled deeply through her nose. “Smells amazing,” she marveled.

“It’s almost ready. There’s a bowl of raspberries and a bottle of syrup on the table waiting for you, too.” The hand he’d been holding the pan with gently caressed her arm.

“I meant you,” she teased, poking him in his still-far-too-hard-to-be-fair stomach, “but the breakfast smells lovely too.”

“If you keep distracting me, you are going to have some very burnt toast,” he chided. The sound of the spatula sliding against the pan  was quickly followed by the sizzle of the other side of the eggy bread hitting the hot surface.

“Fiiiine.” Halise begrudgingly released him and stepped over to her refrigerator to see what else he’d picked up while he was at the market. The interior was practically bursting with food. Fruits and vegetables nearly overflowed the crisper, milk and eggs and  juices were stacked in the door, and every conceivable cut of every conceivable meat cluttered the shelves. Her mouth dropped open at the sheer bounty of it all. “What the balls, dude?!” she very nearly shouted, incredulity tinging her voice. “Did you buy the whole market? How many trips did this take you to bring in? Do you have a secret fortune I didn’t know about?!”

Cullen snorted before letting out a hearty laugh. “No secret fortune, I promise. But I’m going to be here for a little while, and I didn’t know what you wanted.” A little shrug rolled pleasingly down his shoulders.

“So you bought _everything_? I—Well—I guess that wasn’t the worst plan,” she conceded, sparing a final quick glance at her cornucopia before closing the refrigerator door. She crossed the kitchen, taking her seat at the table and popping a ripe, juicy raspberry in her mouth. “I’m going to have to learn some new recipes for some of that crap. I have no fucking idea how to cook ram steak.”

They ate their delicious breakfast—brunch, really—then read books, and watched television for the next few hours. Halise was curled up against Cullen the whole time, something in her mind begging her to stay close, lest she lose him again. When she paid the thought any mind, however, she was reminded that someone did want her dead—maybe wanted him dead, too. She had no idea what came next from Corypheus, but did her best not to think about it while things were so blissfully perfect. However long that was meant to last.

In one hand, Cullen held an open fantasy novel about the commander of a nations-huge army from centuries ago that she dug up for him. His other arm was draped across her chest, fingers absently tracing the line of her collarbone as he read. Little scoffs and puffs of disbelief issued from him periodically, forcing Halise to press her lips together to keep from laughing openly.

He jerked up into a protective position when a key turned the tumblers in the lock on her front door, sitting up straight and shielding her with his body while his head swiveled around to see who was coming in. Halise shrieked at the rapid movement, eyes bugging out with the shock of his sudden weight pressing against her sore body from every angle. She tried to explain, “It’s just—”

She felt his body relax a little, knowing he must have seen who walked in the door. “Finally!!!” Sera’s voice exclaimed from behind them. Her hooting was followed by a very self-satisfied sound from a man—Dorian undoubtedly—and a hum of somewhat quizzical amusement from a different female voice.

Halise turned to see who else was with them as Cullen slowly released his vice-like grip on her. To her surprise, Leliana stood beside Dorian, a bemused little twinkle flashing across her intelligent eyes. Cullen’s hand flew to the back of his neck, and Halise chewed on the inside of her lip to stop the grin threatening to spread.

“I-I was just—We were just—” Cullen was stammering. She couldn’t really blame him, he had no idea how much Halise had talked about him over the past couple of months.

“We know what you were just!” Sera chortled. “’Bout time, too, for all _her_ whinging about it.” _Ugh, you no-secret-keeping asshole!_ Halise thought with a wince.

“Now, now Sera,” Dorian interjected. “To be fair, they’re both so oblivious, neither of them would know they had a nose on their own face if someone didn’t tell them.” He smirked that knowing fucking smirk at Halise, and she gave him a wide-eyed look of mock-warning.

Cullen opened his mouth as if to protest, but was interrupted by the observant redhead standing with her arms crossed in Halise’s entryway. “I must say, most of us wondered when this would eventually happen, though I do owe Varric a bit of money now.”

“You guys were taking bets?!” Halise asked loudly. “And neither of _you_ told me?!” She’d officially gone squeaky.

“It would have been an unfair advantage,” Dorian answered with a flippant wave of his hand, utterly nonplussed by Halise’s weak ire. “You should feel better already, though, my darling. Both of us are losing money over this little development.” He gestured between himself and Sera, who scowled at him.

Halise couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her then. Cullen looked completely dumbstruck by everything, though he’d obviously realized that denying their involvement was no longer an option. She rubbed his knee, and his expression shifted. He gave he the sweetest, most hopeful, worried little smile, his brow furrowed up instead of down. She grinned back at him with a shrug, and they both rose to meet their visitors.

Fortunately for everyone, Halise’s couch was a sectional, capable of holding everyone within eyeshot for their conversation. Sera started, talking while she plugged a flash drive into Halise’s TV. “Right, so we know who tried to turn your gracious ladybits into—well—ladybits.”

“We already know who ordered it. That’s obvious,” Cullen said.

“Pfft. Yeah, well you didn’t see who he sent to handle it, did you, General Uptight?” An affectionate little nickname she’d come up with for him years ago, after she found out he was ex-military. “We’ve got pictures. From a camera down the street.” She snatched up Halise’s remote control, turning on the television and playing a video file from the flash drive.

“Where did you get this?” Halise asked suspiciously as the video began.

“Friends.”

Halise shut her eyes and sighed heavily. As if understanding her trepidation, Leliana spoke up. “We’ve ensured that the chain of custody will support this video’s admissibility,” she said, her Orlesian accent making it sound just a bit less sinister than it otherwise might have. Halise nodded at her in silent appreciation, turning her attention back to the screen.

On the shockingly clear video, Halise’s blue car was visible from up and to the rear, sitting undisturbed across from the lively scene partially visible through the window of Haven. A figure wearing a tattered black hoodie sauntered up to the passenger’s side before slipping underneath the vehicle. He was underneath the car for several minutes, reappearing with an almost affectionate pat on the car. Then he did something strange. He stood up very straight, dropping his hood away from his face, and spun in a slow circle. He was smiling like a complete lunatic, and flipping the bird with both hands. The camera caught a very clear picture of his face—sallow and sickly, covered in red sores and growths, head completely shaved.

“That’s Archdemon,” Sera said matter-of-factly.

Cullen’s head whipped to face her. “What?! How do you know that?” He sounded angrier than Halise would have expected. Although, it was understandable. This guy had tried to blow her up.

“We know cause people know,” the blonde elf answered. “Got his picture. Showed it to the little people—moms and gardeners and that. They know him. Don’t know his real name, though. Or where he puts his head at night.”

“His face doesn’t appear to match anything in any DMV or criminal database, either,” Leliana added with a slight frown. “Without fingerprints or something more substantial, it will be hard to find out who or where he is. DPD has put a BOLO out on him, but I’m not terribly confident that they will get any leads.”

“The financials we’ve been looking at seem to support the presence of a third party around some of the crimes for which you’re trying Corypheus,” Dorian chimed in, “but there’s nothing I can find to add to what Leliana and Sera have already told you, unfortunately.”

“Well…shit,” Halise said, feeling a bit deflated.

When she looked back at the TV, she saw herself standing in the street, rummaging through her purse. Sera had forgotten to stop the video. The blonde followed Halise’s gaze, lurching for the remote when she realized what was about to happen. Halise put out an arm to stop her. She needed to see this.

She felt Cullen’s hand on the small of her back. She glanced up at his worried face. Maybe forcing him to see it all over again was cruel. But it was too late by then. Halise saw herself fling her arms into the air, keys in hand, then wave a little at Cullen through the window. The tail lights flashed, immediately followed by a blinding explosion. She could just make out her body being thrown against a white car. _Well, now I know why my head hurts so fucking much._  

Moments later, she saw Cullen leap out of the window of Haven, followed quickly by Sera, Leliana, Bull, Krem, and a few of the other Chargers. They fanned out while Cullen spun frantically in the street. He was looking for her. Halise’s heart clenched in her chest when she watched him rush to her side. The video ended abruptly there.

“Fenedhis,” she murmured. Only then did she notice Cullen’s hand on her knee, his grip on her so tight, his knuckles had gone white. She looked up at him again, and seeing the pain on his face broke her heart. Almost unconsciously, she lifted her hand to his clenched jaw, bringing his eyes to meet hers. “It’s alright,” she soothed. “I’m still alive. I’m still here.”

Cullen nodded almost imperceptibly against her palm, a shaky sigh leaving his tense body. He really did love her, didn’t he?

Leliana cleared her throat, drawing their attention back across the couch. “There was one more thing. Cassandra asked me to let you know that the District Attorney has asked to meet with you personally.”

 _Why?_ “Why?” Halise was more than a little dumbfounded. What could her _big_ boss want with her?

“I’m not entirely certain. It might have something to do with the fact that you were…wounded, presumably in service to Ferelden. Though there are whispers it has something to do with Wardens from the FBI and the Corypheus case. Nothing that my people or I can confirm, though,” the investigator said. She seemed to choose her words very carefully, saying only what was necessary to convey very specific information.

“Oookay,” Halise replied skeptically. “Well, I hope he knows I can’t meet with him until after I’m off of house arrest—I mean bedrest.” She grinned deviously at her intentional misnomer. Leliana gave her a brief nod that said she would pass along the message.

This case kept getting stranger and stranger. Nothing in Halise’s knowledge or life experience could even begin to prepare her for how to deal with all the weird shit being thrown at her. _Ever forward,_ she thought.

At least now she had Cullen. Cullen, her strong, helpful man. Cullen, her smart and diligent partner. Cullen, her great love. Yes. She had Cullen.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAAAASSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! <3
> 
> Terminology time!!! BOLO - Be On the LookOut
> 
> Also, FBI agents are FBI Wardens now...so there. ^_~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW...kinda? I dunno I'm putting the warning here anyway.
> 
> Also song...kinda? I dunno I'm putting the link [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGP0qnFPu6s) anyway.

It was three blissful nights before Cullen’s nightmares returned. Halise had seen them before, and had only been biding her time until another one overcame him. If she was honest, she thought it was remarkable that they hadn’t returned earlier. After all, she could only imagine what he’d been going through, having been blown up once and then watching the woman he loved suffer the same fate.

Mercifully—if it could even be considered merciful—Cullen’s whimpers and tortured sobs woke her before his bruising grip. Halise’s eyes fluttered open, and she sprang into action. As he thrashed and murmured, “no,” about a dozen times, she wove her fingers into his hair, whispering soothing chants into his ear. His body stilled, but his mind continued to torment him. Broken phrases still rose from his lips, fraught and terrified.

“Don’t…Please, I beg…”

“I’m here, Cullen. Wake up for me, vhenan.” An old Elvhen pet name she’d heard her parents call each other. Cullen once told her it reminded him of the sound of his heartbeat in his ears when he looked at her. Old romantic soul, him.

“Not…love of the Maker…please…”

“Cullen, you’re safe. Please, wake up.” Tears began to slip from Halise’s eyes. Why wasn’t it working? She’d done it years ago and it worked every time. Why wasn’t it working?!

“Halise…” Her head jerked back when he wept her name. She thought she’d finally succeeded. But his eyes were still creased with the force holding them shut, moisture pooling at the bridge of his nose.

“I’m here. Cullen I’m here. I’m okay,” she pleaded, willing him to open his eyes.

“Kill me…don’t…not her…”

Halise shook her head, speaking louder and firmer. “No. No, no, no. Cullen. Wake up.” Her hand caressed his tightly clenched jaw, passing lightly over the slow-healing cut there.

“Please,” he sobbed loudly, his face flushing scarlet from its tense, pained expression. “…me, not her!”

Her hands were shaking, she’d only just realized. “Cullen! Wake up!”

That seemed to do the trick, but not in the way she had hoped. Cullen’s eyes flew open as he bellowed, “NO!” and lunged forward. Halise screamed when his strong hands grabbed her shoulders—her left one shooting pain through her body—and pinned her to the mattress. His ordinarily amber eyes were bloodshot and full of rage as he stared down at her, teeth bared like a cornered beast. His shoulders and chest expanded and contracted violently with the loud breaths sawing in and out of him.

It was Halise’s second pained yelp that roused him fully. Her eyes ached in their openness, staring up at him. As quickly as it came, all of the fury and hatred was replaced with surprise, sorrow, and shame. Cullen’s once again amber eyes darted about, taking in the scene below him. She knew what he would see and how he would hate himself, and she was right.

Cullen released her without a word, scrambling back away from her so fast he fell off the edge of the bed with a deep _thud_. Halise sat up, clutching her aching shoulder as she crawled across the mattress on her knees toward him. When he stood, he couldn’t look at her. “Cullen,” she murmured, “look at me, please. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

He hung his head in shame akin to the mannerisms of a child who’d been beaten for losing something precious—guilt compounded by pain. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt. I hurt you.” His voice dripped with agony and self-loathing.

Halise’s feet hit the wood floor lightly, making almost no sound. She reached out to him, fingers stretching in their attempt to graze his cheek. He shied away as if she’d touched a wound, though she supposed she had. His mind was wounded, leaving his soul festering and sore. Certainly, it had healed over longer and longer, but the healing barrier was thin there, leaving him open to re-injury with even the slightest touch. Watching her nearly die was no slight touch.

“You didn’t hurt me, someone else did,” she replied softly. “You’re protecting me. Making me feel safe.” She chewed on the inside of her lip as her hand reached for him again, and again he flinched.

“How can I protect you when I have even the remote capacity to _attack_ you in my sleep?!” Cullen shouted. His large frame had begun to shiver. “I can’t be making you feel safe. And even if we blame that injury on Corypheus and Archdemon, _I_ am making it worse! I’m making everything worse!”

Halise had had it. She hadn’t waited seven years to be with him only for him to be terrified to be near her. “You know what’s making this _sooo_ much fucking worse, Cullen? The fact that you won’t even let me touch you right now! You’re so afraid of yourself, you’re not letting me have a say in how I feel about all this.” Her lower lip began to quiver, sad, angry tears falling from her eyes. Her voice wobbled and wavered. “But you know what? I love you! And I’m not letting you out of this so easily! So put your Fen-damned arms around me and hold me before I really start to think that you’re trying to leave me!”

His eyes finally rose to meet hers, flicking back and forth as hurt crossed his face. “Leave you? Maker’s breath, Halise, I—How could you think that I want to leave you?”

She threw up her forearms and open palms in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re flinching when I try to touch you and this is the first you’ve looked at me? I feel—I feel like—”

Cullen interrupted her by folding her into a desperate embrace. In an instant, she felt safe and loved once more. A relieved sigh wheezed out of her chest as his hands spanned across her back. Sweat soaked through his old shirt, but she couldn’t give less of a shit. She inhaled him—soap and cologne and something distinctly male. “I will _never_ leave you,” he whispered into her hair. “Neither will I hurt you while I lie next to you. But I—I don’t know how to stop the dreams.”

“I need a new car,” Halise said, seemingly out of left field. She needed to flip the script, and she wanted to do it fast to give his brain a jolt—get him off-balance so she could shift the mood.

“What?” Cullen pulled away just enough to look at her, his quizzical countenance very nearly pulling a laugh from her.

“We’re going stir crazy in here, and I need a new car before going back to work in a few days. Especially if I’m supposed to meet the DA—can’t be getting chauffeured around to important meetings like some snobby corporate counsel. I think we should call Dr. Adan in the morning and see if he thinks it’s okay for me to go out—just for a little while—and bring home a car.”

“I am not going stir crazy,” he said plainly.

“Oh, so just regular crazy, then?” Cullen gave her a look, and she smiled for the first time since waking. “Look, all I’m saying is that me and my books and my video games and my walls can’t be all you look at for a week.”

A little smirk crept up his lips, curving that rakish scar of his. “I’m quite content to look at you for as long as you’ll let me.”

Halise did laugh that time, slapping him lightly on the arm. “Well, aren’t you mercurial?” she mused incredulously. “In any case, I think it would be good for us to get out of the house for a little while. Get some fresh air and a little Vitamin D. Aaaand maybe some tacos and a melon agua fresca from that Rivaini place I like.” She pursed her lips, then smiled at him.

Cullen nodded gently, a little mirrored smile settling pleasantly on his mouth. “Perhaps you would be willing to assume the risk of letting me take you back to bed so you can rest up for this outing?”

She let her lips part as she nibbled on the lower one. With a little shake of her head and arch of her brow, she replied, “I’ll let you take me back to bed, but you’ve awakened the beast.” He puffed out a laugh. “I have no intention of resting.” No more laughing.

A heady sigh left her chest as Cullen’s hand glided up her back, through her hair, and cupped her jaw. One might have cause to wonder whether the two of them had become old hat when it came to kissing. Halise certainly didn’t think so. Familiarity was as close as they might come to that. But when Cullen kissed her, she felt the fire in his blood, praying all the while for it to burn her up. And it always did. Every time. Without fail.

Their mutual understanding of one another’s bodies was at once cerebral and unconscious, epistemic and carnal, elevated and primal. It was evidenced in spades with every swipe of the tongue, every flex of muscle, every graze of a finger. The blaze in Cullen’s blood stoked its twin in Halise’s, and soon they were melted together—a moaning, humming, keening, tangled mass of limbs and teeth and flesh and hair and eyes. Each roll of Cullen’s hips and scrape of Halise’s fingernails brought them closer to an ultimate sort of unity.

They hadn’t made it under the covers—they’d barely even made it back to the bed. Cullen held himself up on his elbows, forearms clutching Halise’s newly bare body against his. Their lips separated for a moment, and she opened her eyes. Staring back at her was not a man driven by lust, but by love. Hope and devotion swam in his whiskey colored eyes. This wasn’t just fucking, though they had done that before and incontrovertibly would again. This was making love. Every sensation came with a sweet edge, lingering trust and faith in each other audible in every cry of pleasure. Her eyes closed again with the rush that foretold her orgasm, breath stalling in her lungs before squeezing out in long, shaky moans of ecstasy. She felt Cullen pulse within her as he came, breathing out her name in ragged bursts into her ear.

Halise was content then. Utterly spent and nestled in the arms of the man she loved. How could he think she wouldn’t feel safe with him? She finally had him back, and she’d never felt safer.

*****

Maker, Halise could be absolutely terrifying! Then again the salesman at the dealership really had made a major misstep with her the moment they walked onto the lot. The unsuspecting man had sauntered up to them and immediately began addressing Cullen. Halise gave him a chance to rectify his mistake by telling him that _she_ , in fact, was the one there to buy a car. But the fool just buried his foot deeper in his mouth. “Ah, so the missus needs a car, eh?”

Cullen pitied the man for being so dense. Halise’s jaw clenched as her face went devoid of any of the pleasantness she’d been trying to maintain. She cocked her head, eyes boring all the way through him. “Listen…” She glanced down at his nametag. “Clarence, if you could stop addressing my _boyfriend_ as if I’m his property and focus your obviously astounding observational and sales skills on me—you know, the one actually trying to buy a car?—maybe this ‘missus’ will consider staying on this lot instead of putting your face on the news in a consumer report dedicated entirely to warning people to run far, far away. How’s that sound?” She beamed at him, but no joy lived there.

“I—Uh—I’m sor—”

“Greeeaaat,” she interrupted, drawing it out with phony sincerity. “So here’s the deal. I’m going to take you to the car I want—I do already know precisely what I want—and then you’re going to take us inside, give us some of your lovely little waxy cups full of cold water, and I’ll sign some paperwork, hm? Yes? Fantastic.” Her voice dropped with her disdain at the tail end of her berating monologue.

It was all Cullen could do not to laugh, or maybe give the poor idiot a pity pat on the back. By the time they left, Halise had all but fleeced the man. She’d managed to get him to knock nearly three thousand off the asking price and got free all-weather floormats and an extended manufacturer’s warranty. It was sexy as all Void watching her do it, too.

They drove off the lot, Cullen in his SUV and Halise in her new, slightly bigger, little blue car. As promised, they stopped at the Rivaini place for some tacos and agua fresca. While they were there, though, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder every few moments. Someone wanted Halise, and possibly him, dead. The restaurant wasn’t anywhere near Corypheus’s territory, but then again, neither was Haven. The thoughts certainly didn’t bring him any comfort, so he kept an eye on their vehicles while they ate, and sat facing the front door in case someone came in with a gun.

Halise had also insisted that they stop at a hardware store to get Cullen a copy of her house key so he didn’t scare her half to death again. Sera and Dorian both had them, and she reasoned that he had a better excuse for needing one than they did. She laughed him off when he suggested that he should just take Sera’s. Just as well, he’d only been _mostly_ serious. While they waited for the key to be cut, they scanned over the paint swatches on display, seeking the most ridiculously named paints. Halise was torn between a blue paint mysteriously called “Scanda,” and a gray named “Anonymous,” while Cullen thought the obvious choice was a dark green named “Lying Lemon.”

He followed her home, eyes almost glued to his rearview mirrors. It had been a long time since he’d been so paranoid. _At least,_ he told himself, _this time there is a real reason._

When they reached the front door, a package sat outside. Halise’s guard instantly went up, and she froze where she stood. Cullen knew what it was. “It’s alright,” he murmured, bringing her head to his lips and giving her a peck on her curls. “I ordered something.” Her body relaxed with a tenuous sigh as he scooped up the cardboard box in one hand and opened the front door with his new key.

She eyed him suspiciously while he used his rather large folding knife to open the box. He couldn’t help but smirk knowing what was within. When he drew out the smaller box inside with all of the sleek design and packaging, Halise cocked her head and squinted for a moment. He held it out to her, shaking it a bit to entice her to come and take it. “It’s for you.”

Chewing on the inside of her lip as she approached, Halise took the package from his hand. Her eyes lit up when she finally read the label, a brilliant smile taking over her lovely face. Cullen’s smirk grew into a grin at the sight of her excitement. Little box still in hand, she hopped over to him gleefully and threw her arms around his waist. He chuckled at her mirth, grateful to have had a hand in it.

All at once, she pulled away from him with a serious expression resembling a scowl. “Wait, this is way better than the one I had. How much did this cost you?”

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t want you to worry about it. I thought you deserved something better.”

“You know I can just look it up online, right?” Her arms crossed over her chest, still holding the box.

He wrapped her in his arms again. “I do, and you’re welcome to if you like. But just let me do this for you without worrying about it, please. Just let me buy you a new mp3 player.”

She stared at him silently for a moment, assessing, he thought. But a goofy grin nearly exploded onto her face. “Okay!” she chirped cheerfully. “Yay!” Her whole body wriggled in something resembling a happy-dance. “I’m gonna go load this thing up!!!”

Halise moved away from him, dance-walking towards her “dame den” and humming something uneven and tuneless. Cullen watched her go with a pleased smile. But something she’d said that day was needling at his mind.  He followed after her, uncertainty in his unusually slow stride.

Upon reaching the doorway, he could see Halise sitting at her desk. She’d already plugged in the mp3 player and was fidgeting while she watched an unmoving progress bar in the center of her screen. A frustrated noise—somewhat like a “mmrrff”—eked out of her, bringing a snicker up from Cullen’s chest. She turned to fire a persnickety look at him as he approached her. He shot a casual glance at the progress window.

“Maker’s breath, Halise! That’s nearly twenty-four _thousand_ songs!” He felt his eyes bulging at the sight of such a number.

Her expression went from exasperated to sheepish in an instant. “Yeah. Almost seventy-five days’ worth of music.” Her lower lip curved when she nibbled at it, her long fingernails tick-tacking in nervous little taps against her keyboard.

Cullen was in such shock he chose to ignore just how staggering that number really was. With an infinitesimal shake of his head, he refocused on the question he’d come in to ask. “Did you…Did you mean what you said earlier?” _You call yourself a prosecutor with questions that insufferably vague?!_ “At the dealership?” _Well that doesn’t help!_

A few tendrils of Halise’s red hair fell over her shoulder when she cocked her head at him, a questioning look in her eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I meant everything I said to that nard-fondling misogynist.”

His hand squeezed at the back of his neck. Maker, why was he so nervous? “I mean—” He cleared his throat. “I mean when you called me your boyfriend.”

Recognition flashed over Halise then, preceding a soft, genuine smile. “Ah,” she cooed softly. “I did mean that. I’m sorry, I realize we never talked about it. It just sort of slipped out. If you—Uh—If you want to roll that back until we’ve been together for longer, I get it.” She looked a bit apprehensive, refusing to hold his gaze for more than a second or two.

Cullen didn’t mean to laugh. But he did. “You think that’s why I’m asking? That I _don’t_ want you to call me your boyfriend? Maker, you are one of the smartest, most clever people I’ve ever met, but you can be so obtuse!”

Halise’s face—eyes, mouth, even her nostrils—was wide open in a full display of her disbelief. “Did you just call me obtuse?” she asked, a laughing smile spreading.

“I did. Because if you think that after nearly nine years of loving you, I would be averse to being your boyfriend, you must be.” He lowered himself to her as he spoke, resting his hands on the armrest of her office chair as he leveled his eyes with hers.

She was doing a piss-poor job suppressing a smile, if he did say so himself. Her lips were pursed, but the corners still curled up, betraying her amusement. “You’re an ass,” she snarked before leaning over and depositing a delicate kiss on his lips. “Albeit, you’re an ass with an exceptional ass, but an ass nonetheless. There’s just a whole lot of ass going on in this room right now.”

“Well, this ass would be happy to keep you busy while you wait for your unreasonably gargantuan music library to download,” Cullen smirked, thrilled when she rose to meet him.

Several days later, on the morning they were both supposed to return to work, he woke—as usual—well before his alarm was set to sound. With bleary, barely opened eyes, he felt a cool void where Halise ordinarily rested against his chest. He stretched out his arm to check for her presence in the rest of her bed, which was undeniably too large for just one person. There were a few warm spots, but no warm woman. Cullen’s eyes opened further, scanning the room to no avail. It was only when his ears joined the rest of his consciousness that he heard the faintest sound of music.

Rising to follow the tune, he finally realized that the bedroom door was shut, something that Halise never did when not sharing the space with a roommate. He struggled to remind himself that his instincts were probably wrong. It was very unlikely that an intruder had managed to make it into the house, drag her away from his arms, and abscond with her while leaving classical-sounding music playing in her living room. But more outlandish things than that had happened.

Still, Cullen opened the door as quietly as he could, creeping out and peering around the corner into the living room. What he saw made his heart ache and soar all at once.

Halise was in a long pale pink nightshirt, arms and neck stretched skyward, moving and swaying like a willow tree in the breeze. She’d pushed the coffee table off to the side of the room, and was using the barren floor to its fullest potential with the ethereal accompaniment of a piano and strings. The movements of her legs and feet were almost imperceptible until they were intended to be noticed. Her body swept down and up elegantly, her nimble arms following the flow of her down to the delicate curve of her fingers.

She turned, kicking her leg out behind her and extending it up until it was completely vertical, her fingertips grazing the hardwood with the natural bend in her body. Her leg returned to the ground slowly, and her torso rose in counterbalance, back arched beautifully. Loose red curls cascaded around her, reaching out when she spun, catching in her slightly parted lips. With her every movement, Cullen’s breathing slowed, a calm settling over him. It was like watching a rainstorm or the flow of a river. A quiet, eloquent, powerful force of nature in motion—every leap and extension the epitome of grace.

It wasn’t until the lilting violin solo near what he thought was the end of the song that he noticed the small tears coursing down her cheeks. There was no anguish on her face, no sign of sorrow, yet there they were. Sparkling manifestations of emotion slipped from her eyes as she danced, her arms and legs gliding about exquisitely until she came to rest with the end of the music.

Cullen had already stepped out from his place around the corner, watching her openly, as he suspected she’d noticed. Halise looked over to him, wiping the tears away with her index finger and smiling at him. “It’s this song,” she explained, rolling her left shoulder a bit before taking a seat on her couch. “It just sounds like life to me. Like nature—grass and streams and bunnies and flowers. Incidentally the song is called ‘Flowers.’”

Taking a seat next to her and wrapping her in his embrace, he responded, “That was what you looked like just now. Nature, I mean. I’ve never seen you dance quite like that before.”

She curled into him. “That’s because you’ve never seen me dance ballet. Granted, I didn’t have my pointe shoes on, but those were almost all classically trained movements. It calms me down to do the more regimented, strict stuff.”

“If that was strictly regimented, the Templars have a thing or two to learn.” Quiet laughter spread between the two of them. He rested his check on the top of her head, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “Are you worried about going back today?” he asked softly.

“And meeting the DA later,” she murmured against his chest. “I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about, and he’s a powerful guy. I’m just glad you’re coming with me.”

Cullen’s hand stalled for a moment. “Coming with you? To meet the DA?”

Halise wrung her hands, grazing against his ribs as her arms still encircled him. “You’re my partner, and if this meeting has anything to do with the case, I need you to be there. Aside from that, I just generally need you to be there. I—Fenedhis, I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” she muttered. “I’m still scared.”

Pulling back a bit, he lifted her chin to lock their eyes. “It is completely normal to be scared, Halise,” he replied firmly. “And nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not as if anyone expects you to be totally fine and comfortable two weeks after someone tried to kill you. I’ll be with you for as long as you need me, wherever you need me.”

Dazzling green irises darted to and fro across his face before she coiled back against his chest, her warm, diffused breath spreading under his shirt. “Thank you, vhenan.”

He really did love the sound of that word.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: A couple of those paint names ar real. Also, melon agua fresca is the tits.
> 
> The song Halise referenced is a piano tune called "Flowers," by Helen Jane Long with quartet accompaniment, which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGP0qnFPu6s). I love, love, lovelovelovelove her music, and if you like piano, I urge you to check her out. 
> 
> As some of you may know, I didn't pass the Bar Exam this first time. In a couple of weeks, I have to start studying again, which will affect the frequency of uploads for this fic. I'm not sure how yet, but I'll keep you updated, fair reader, to the best of my ability.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Discussion of gun violence and murder of a child
> 
> There's also a song in this chapter, which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFnIuBB9YAo).

Halise’s eyes traced over the myriad of scars on Cullen’s torso. It was her first time really seeing him with his shirt off since they’d met, given her semi-conscious state when his gi fell open months before and the relative fervor of the previous night. She’d woken before her alarm, and disabled it to give herself just a bit of time to marvel at the man beside her. Each light, shiny line or patch told a story, she knew. But they also tugged at her heart. There were just so many of them. With as much as he had suffered, it was a miracle he ever had a moment of peaceful slumber.

Still, there he was, face completely relaxed and jaw just a little slack, nary a nightmare in sight. She took a quick mental note of the dark bruise she’d left on the crook of his neck while they were in the throes of passion. Ech. She hated that expression. It sounded more like voluntary manslaughter than sex. _The unlawful killing of another in the heat of passion as a result of provocation without adequate cooling off time to form the requisite intent for murder and where the defendant did not cool off,_ she recited mentally. Habit.

Cullen stirred, as if he’d heard her mind say, “manslaughter”—or “sex,” for that matter. Halise stifled the giggle threatening to rise in her throat. With a small sigh and the realization that they both needed to get up if they were going to get to the mock trial finals, she ran her fingers gently down his check. “Cullen,” she cooed. “Wake up, vhenan.” She knew the word meant “my heart.” Her parents had explained that much when she’d asked. It was an apt nickname then, given how she was feeling about him.

A weak, waking groan crawled out of him as his eyes cracked open. He hissed in a breath, groaning again when his strong arms stretched out to his sides, lifting and flexing his chest breathtakingly. Halise pressed her lips together, biting back a groan of her own at the sight of him.

“Mm what did you call me just now?” he asked sleepily, rubbing at his bleary left eye with the heel of his hand.

Halise grinned down at him, propped up on her elbow beside him. “Vhenan. It’s an old Elvhen term of endearment.”

“I like it,” Cullen yawned back, barely intelligible. His breath wasn’t quite as heinous as she’d expected it might be. “It sounds like something…Vhenan.” He chewed on the word pensively and a bit clumsily.

Halise couldn’t stop smiling, but it really was time for them to get up. “While you’re thinking about that, I’m gonna go take a shower.” She kissed him chastely, pulling away when she felt his hand slide up her bare hip. Wagging a finger at him, she hopped out of her bed, grabbing undergarments and loose clothes she could get wet while she dried her hair.

After closing the door over, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes and jaw flew open when she saw the smattering of hickeys on her neck—front, back, and both sides peppered with dark bruises. Her mouth formed, “what the fuck?” but the words never left her lips. Having regarded the marks for just a bit too long, she shook her head, grabbed up her toothbrush and toothpaste, and turned on the shower.

Few things warm up the vocal chords like singing in the steam of a warm shower. It wasn’t as if she didn’t always sing in the shower anyway, but she _needed_ to that day. After all, she had to project her voice through the whole mock trial courtroom for a full day. Knowing this, she picked a somewhat up-tempo song with a wide range of notes.

 

 _Said a lot of words along the way_  
_I meant them all while we reigned_  
_But shores of love get beaten by the waves_

 _And after it was done I wish I'd saved time_  
_One less spark from a flame_  
_One more heartbeat away_  
_I think I lost your scent after the rain_  
_I'll find you when our paths cross by the gold mines_  
  
_Where you gonna go_  
_Where you gonna go_  
_I can tell you that_  
_Woah oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh yeah_  
_Some day in the sky we'll see the same sun on the rise yeah_  
_Wherever you go_  
_Far as Val Royeaux_  
_I can say;_  
_I'll see you again_  
_I'll see you again_  
_I'll see you again_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhh_

She’d already washed her face, shaved, and shampooed when she clipped her conditioner-laden hair in a twisted pile on top of her head and picked up her loofa and soap. She kept singing even when she saw a large shadow pass into the room and heard the telltale _squeak_ of someone sitting on a closed toilet lid. Her opaque blue shower curtain was a blessing and a curse.

  
_Aching with a debt never paid_  
_Horses broken and splayed_  
_Breathing half a breath since you're away_  
_But while your blood is warm I'll keep the home fires_  
  
_Where you gonna go_  
_Where you gonna go_  
_I can tell you that_  
_Woah oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh yeah_  
_Some day in the sky we'll see the same sun on the rise yeah_  
_Wherever you go_  
_Far as Val Royeaux_  
_I can say;_  
_I'll see you again_  
_I'll see you again_  
_I'll see you again_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhh_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhh_  
  
_My love is never gone away_  
_It's gonna come around someday_  
_My love is never gone away_  
_It's gonna come around someday_  
_I'll see you again_  
_I'll see you again_

_Hoo ooh ooh ooh_

 

“I know you’re in here, Cullen,” Halise announced slyly as she rinsed the soap from her body. The toilet seat squeaked again with the shift in his weight, and he cleared his throat in his clear discomfort. She chuckled, adding a nonchalant, “I don’t mind.”

“It’s just—You were singing—Taking a—Uh—Long time…” he stammered. She could practically hear his hand on the back of his neck as she rinsed out her hair.

“It’s fine, I promise. I’ll be out in just a minute, then you can take your turn.” When she didn’t hear him move, she filled her mouth up with water. In a flash, she darted her head out between the curtain and the wall and spat the water at him before he had a chance to look her way. Cullen yipped and leapt off the toilet seat while she laughed. “Go on, git!” she hollered, laughing harder at the rueful grin he shot at her before turning tail.

True to her word, she was out in a moment, and Cullen showered while she dealt with her hair. He actually finished before she did, remarking on how long the process seemed to take as he sauntered his naked ass past her wearing nothing but a smile. “When you have more than two feet of curly hair hanging down your back, you can talk shit,” she snarked, head upside down to shake out and dry said curls. Though she had her laugh when he noticed the massive hickey on his neck.

It wasn’t until they were in her car on their way back to the law school that he noticed Halise’s marks. The high collars of her shirt and blazer covered most of them, but two peeked out—one on her throat and one on the right side of her neck. She couldn’t have covered them with makeup, it just would’ve come off all over her white shirt. He couldn’t apologize profusely enough, it seemed, but she waved him off sweetly. “A not-so-gentle reminder of our…evening,” she purred, pleased at the flush that ripped through his cheeks. Oh, she knew what she would be doing when they competed against each other that day. She barely staved off a devious cartoon villain grin at the thought.

As perfectly as if the Creators had planned it, Halise was seated at the prosecutor’s table on the left side of the room. As first chair, and with Cullen being the first chair on his team, they sat just a few feet from each other across a narrow aisle. He was the picture of professionalism, nodding attentively as he listened to his partner, a lovely dwarven brunette with intelligent eyes. Halise discussed strategy with her partner, Gabrielle, a brilliant girl with mousy brown hair and a cavity-inducingly sweet smile.

Halise played it completely clean during opening statements, addressing the jury passionately and relating all of the evidence back to elements of the crime. Cullen carefully countered each of her points, not looking at her once while he spoke, despite standing directly in front of her. But the moment the first witness hit the stand, Halise did everything she could to bring Cullen’s attention to the dark spots on her neck. She craned, she tapped and stroked her neck with her pen as she spoke, she let her fingers casually drift across the bruises, but she didn’t look at him. At least once, she heard him clear his throat and adjust his glasses. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him rub at his own, covered hickey. Her distraction tactics were working.

She turned to look at him only on occasions when the mock trial judge asked if the defense had any questions for cross-examination. Each time, Halise stared blankly at him, rolling the button of her retractable pen across her parted lower lip. Each time, his eyes happened to fall on her. Each time, he stammered. Each time, he reached across his chest to rub at the crook of his neck where he knew she’d marked him. No one else could see it, but they both knew it was there. It was everything she could do not to smirk with self-satisfaction.

Even with all of that, the competition was remarkably close. Halise and her partner only won by a very narrow margin, though she refused to let it taint her victory. She specifically shook Cullen’s partner’s hand before his so she could let their grasp linger. He would be gone again that night and Mythal only knew when she would get to see him again. They stared into each other’s eyes, a thousand emotions flying between them.

“Halise!” a voice called out from behind her, drawing her gaze away from her handsome blonde.

She scanned the audience for only a moment before her face lit up at the sight of the tall redheaded elf approaching. She released Cullen’s hand and practically ran. “Daddy!!!” she shouted as she flung herself into her father’s open arms.

He hugged her tightly, eliciting a grunt and a laugh from both of them before he held her back to look at her. “What are you doing here?” Halise asked, voice squeaky with excitement.

“Well, there’s a huge gangs and narcotics conference going on at the convention center tomorrow and the following day, but I thought I’d fly out a day early to watch my little girl kick some ass! I’ve gotta say, cutie, I was not disappointed.” They beamed proudly at each other.

All at once it hit her. She had both her favorite men in the same place! “Daddy, you remember I told you about that guy from South Reach?” she started, turning and leading her father by the hand toward Cullen. The blonde was having a few words with his partner, but pivoted and stood at military attention almost instantly. “This is him.”

Her father looked at Cullen, looked back at Halise, and looked at Cullen again before extending his hand. “Hey,” he said casually, as Cullen clasped his hand, “Revassan Lavellan. Nice to finally meet you.”

“ _Sergeant_ Revassan Lavellan,” Halise added boastfully. Her father chuckled.

“Cullen Rutherford, ser. It’s very nice to meet you too, ser.” He was obviously very nervous.

“Former _Captain_ Cullen Rutherford,” she chirped, determined to bolster both of them in each other’s eyes.

Revassan’s brows lifted at that, arms crossing over his chest with the termination of their handshake. “Oh? Which branch?”

Cullen, who stood a couple of inches taller than the redhead, held his firm stance. Poor guy was scared out of his mind. “Templars, ser. I was in the 2nd Assault Regiment until about six years ago.”

Halise’s father nodded slowly, eyeing Cullen analytically. “Listen, I was going to take Halise out for dinner tonight, and I would love it if you’d join us,” he said, his demeanor impeccably friendly. “Think of it as a consolation prize for having your ass so soundly thrashed by my brilliant daughter.” He patted her on the back.

A smirk crept up Cullen’s lips, likely in spite of his efforts to hold it back. “I would like that, ser.”

“And quit it with the ‘ser’ crap, man. Just call me Revassan,” her father grinned, adding with a mutter, “Got me thinking I’m back at work with all these baby cops.”

Cullen’s smirk grew into a smile. “Alright.” _Boom!_ No one could resist the Lavellan charm. She gave herself a mental high five.

Halise and Revassan took one car to the restaurant, while Cullen followed in his SUV. She hadn’t wanted him to move it the previous night because he would have had to pay double the parking fees at his hotel. The short ride gave her just enough time to catch her father up on Cullen, including a brief mention of PTSD. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t divulge something like that. But her father was all too well-versed in the struggle. She knew he would be able to talk to Cullen about it in a different way than she could.

The tension eased rapidly once they all sat down at a table, having almost completely dissipated by the time appetizers came out. Halise knew they would get along. They were different, but also the same in so many ways. Both of them were highly skilled and trained warriors who’d seen some shit and then relegated themselves to desks. They just went about it a bit differently. Still, they were making each other laugh—occasionally at Halise’s expense, though she didn’t mind.

Only when dinner arrived did Revassan finally bring up Cullen’s military service. “So, Cullen,” he began softly but confidently, “what was your time in the Templars like? Halise mentioned you were discharged after an injury?”

Cullen’s mood shifted a bit, increasingly somber as he glanced at Halise. Her brows furrowed up, and she flicked her eyes toward her father encouragingly. The blonde sighed before he told a more abbreviated version of his story than he’d told Halise. Revassan didn’t ask any questions or interrupt, he just listened.

He nodded when Cullen finished. “That is all kinds of fucked up, kiddo,” he said sympathetically, clapping a hand over Cullen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He took a bite of his food before continuing. “Did Halise ever tell you about what happened about six years back? When I was still on patrol?”

Cullen shook his head slightly. Revassan nodded again. “Well, one night me and my partner—big Qunari fucker named Adaar, my partner for years—One night we were in our hoop, in our usual area, when some looney toon in a pickup runs a red light. Guy almost T-boned us. So, naturally, we go after him. He doesn’t yield for the flashers, so we go in pursuit. The guy drove into a residential neighborhood doing a solid 60 miles per hour and bailed while the car was still rolling—no idea how he survived.”

Revassan paused, taking a sip of his iced tea. Halise looked at Cullen, who was completely enrapt. She felt good about it, but didn’t smile. She knew what came next, and she couldn’t smile knowing that.

“Me and Adaar stop the black and white and go in foot pursuit. This wingnut was faster than anyone I’d ever chased—I mean, I thought we were gonna have to give it up and grid check the neighborhood in a containment. But no. We hear backup sirens not far off, and someone on the radio setting up containment points, so we’re going for it. Guy runs into a backyard, then through an open slider on some family’s back porch. It was hot out—lot of open windows and doors that night, even in the hood where people really should know better.

“Anyway, the guy goes into this house, and only Mom and this seven year-old kid are inside. Guy grabs the kid and points a gun none of us realized he had right at the little guy’s head. Kid’s screaming, mom’s screaming, guy’s screaming—it’s all gone to the Void. We try talking the guy down, but he’s fucking rabid—literally foaming at the mouth, twacked out on fade—and he wasn’t hearing us. Adaar starts to walk up to the guy really slowly, thinking he could bum rush him and take the gun before anyone got hurt. But this lunatic just…” Revassan paused, sighing and looking away for a moment. Halise reached up to rub him on the arm, and they shared a sympathetic look.

“Guy shot the kid,” he said plainly, looking back to Cullen. “Adaar did rush him then, but the guy shot him too—caught him in the sweet spot.” He lifted his arm and poked a spot between his armpit and his chest. “No vest coverage. Adaar went down, and I fired at the guy. He shot at me too. Guess which one of us got hit.”

Revassan lifted his shirt a bit, and Cullen leaned over the table to see what Halise already knew was the scar of a bullet wound. Near it were several incision scars from the six surgeries he’d had to repair most of his internal organs after the bullet bounced around inside him. “But the story just gets better,” her father continued to Cullen’s obvious chagrin. “After I went down, the guy jumped on me. He beat me until the world started going dark. I was sure my wife and little girls would be getting a neatly folded Ferelden flag in the near future. But our car partners pulled him off of me before I went out—Andrews and Chadwick. I thank Mythal for those guys every day. But Adaar wasn’t quite as lucky. I spoke at his funeral and gave the neatly folded Ferelden flag to his husband and son.”

It was Cullen’s turn to put a hand on Revassan. The two men exchanged a look that could only be borne by two men who had seen some truly awful atrocities. “It took a long time for the nightmares to ease off,” the redhead said, “as Halise can tell you. She learned pretty quickly the best ways to calm me down, thanks to her mother. She’s a remarkable psychologist.” He sat up straighter, digging in his pocket and pulling out a business card. “In any case, if you ever need someone to talk to about all this shit, you give me a call.” He wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card before handing it to Cullen, who took it as if he’d been given a family heirloom. The sight warmed Halise’s heart beyond sense and reason.

After dinner ended, it was so late, Halise considered encouraging Cullen to stay another night and drive back to South Reach in the morning. But she knew he wouldn’t. Instead, she watched him and her father clap a noisy hug around each other, tears building in the corners of her eyes at the sight of them. When her father was done with him, she wrapped her arms around Cullen’s neck, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured as she dropped back down onto her heels. “But I’ll text you when I get home, and I’ll get on Sending Crystal tomorrow night.”

“Okay,” she replied softly. After only a moment looking into his eyes, she whispered, “I love you.”

He smiled warmly. “I love you, too.”

Halise released him begrudgingly, leaning against her father as she watched him get into his SUV and drive off the lot toward home. “He seems like a good guy,” Revassan said sincerely.

“He is, Dad.”

“One thing, though,” he added, drawing Halise’s eyes up to meet his, her brows arched under her straight fringe in a silent question. He poked her neck lightly. “Tell him to be a little more gentle with the visible parts of your body next time.”

Halise’s eyes widened, blood racing up her cheeks and through the tips of her ears. She swatted her father on the chest and the two of them shared a hearty laugh while they got in the car. What better men could a woman have in her life?

 _None,_ she surmised silently. _There could be no better two men in anyone’s life._

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if you didn't yawn at the beginning, I'm not doing my job! ^_~ 
> 
> Also, you like how the lyrics are foreshadowing and not all at once? They were taken from LP's song "Tokyo Sunrise," (I adapted Tokyo to Val Royeaux, but it fits if you listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFnIuBB9YAo) ^_~). I've said it before in "The Lion by Torchlight," but I really love LP and think she's phenomenal. Give her a listen if you're down.
> 
> As usual, if there are any terms I use that you'd like explained, please feel free to ask. I know I got a little cop-y this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

The piles of work on both their desks when they came back were outlandish. But Cullen supposed such things were to be expected when one is absent for about two weeks without any warning. Fortunately, nearly every file in both stacks had recent notes in it from Cassandra or one of the others in the office. They’d been trailing cases and writing motions, forced to learn the intricacies of gang law on top of their normal duties. Cullen and Halise sat at their desks behind their respective stacks, and he watched silently as she listened to her messages before digging into her file pile.

Halise spoke first, flipping through an open folder in her hands. “I have got to figure out a way to say thank you to everyone for covering for my wounded ass for two weeks. They did such a great job!” Her face betrayed her astonished relief as she talked, carefully reading the notes in the file before glancing up at him.

“I’m sure just having you back in one piece is sufficient,” he replied softly, skimming through the notes in his own cases.

“No way,” she retorted, grabbing up another file and scanning the pages. “I think I need to bake everyone a cake.”

“A cake for the office might be a nice gesture,” Cullen conceded. He watched her, an odd blend of worry and pride swirling through his mind.

Her eyes shot up to meet his, face deadly serious. “No. A cake for each of them. I need to make, like, twenty cakes.”

Before Cullen could object, a slight knock on the open door beside his desk drew his attention away from Halise. Dorian stood in their doorway, as well-composed as he ever was. He spared Cullen a nod before looking to Halise with the tender smile he seemed to reserve only for her. “Welcome back to work, my darling,” he purred.

“I have to bake you a cake. You and Bull. I have to bake you both cakes. Should I make two for Bull?” She stared at Dorian the whole time she spoke.

All the olive-skinned man did was chuckle a bit and reply, “Well, I prefer your macarons—they’re so much better for my waistline—but whatever you think is best.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed before it lifted. Dorian seemed to catch the movement and turned his gaze to the blonde, a smile playing at his lips. “Does this happen often?” Cullen asked.

The smile grew. “My dear Cullen, has our lovely Halise never cooked for you after you did her a favor?” Both their heads swiveled to regard her, her face once again buried in an open file folder. “On rare occasions, yes,” he continued. “She’s forced me into the gym more than her fair share, mostly with brownies. It seems she simply cannot stand to have her gratitude die with only the exchange of ‘thank yous.’ A gesture—typically in the form of fattening food—is _de rigueur_ for her.”

“Actually,” Cullen mused, “she has cooked a number of rather fattening meals for me. But I don’t think I’ve ever really done her any favors that would have merited any gratitude.”

“Yes you did,” Halise interjected, drawing both men’s attention back in her direction. Her head was still down, and she chose silence in lieu of elaboration.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, were those favors exactly?” Dorian inquired. His tone of lude intrigue would have been obvious to even the most casual bystander.

She smirked, still refusing to grant them her full attention, and quoted a movie in reply. “A gentleman never asks. A lady never tells.”

The well-appointed man snorted—actually snorted—out a laugh while a blush raced furiously up Cullen’s neck and cheeks. The blonde took a sip of his coffee and buried his red face in his case file as Dorian shot him a furtive and undoubtedly suggestive glance. He looked back to Halise, retorting, “Well, I am, above all else, a gentleman.”

It was Halise’s turn to snort. “Riiiight.” Cullen heard the file she was holding flap shut in her hands. “A gentleman also doesn’t trail his best friend’s preliminary hearing for the same day she comes back to work after being blown up, but here we are.”

“On that note, I will take my leave,” Dorian said with a little bow. He murmured at Cullen, who still hadn’t recovered from his flush enough to look at the man. “I do still want my cake, after all.”

Cullen heard the approaching _clack_ of Halise’s court heels—black leather with white piping and stitching, a wide strap and oversized button holding her foot in—and lifted his head. She smiled softly at him as she came to rest on the opposite side of his desk. Her palms and fingertips settled delicately on the wooden surface, her torso leaning down to meet him for a chaste kiss. When they parted, he found himself smiling in return, unconcerned with the wide open door beside them.

“I have to go up to twenty for this prelim,” she told him, voice low and soothing. “But one of those messages I got was from Calpernia Nerva. She and Samson have apparently set up an in-chambers meeting for all of us with Judge Blackwall for tomorrow. They’re threatening to move for dismissal for lack of expediency and evidence, but I think they just want to take the judge’s temperature.”

His brows knit together at that. “They have to know they’re not going to get a dismissal for that after they’ve pushed the case back for so long and changed venue. If they wanted to make a due process motion, they shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to make the case so hard to prosecute.”

She nodded, still eye-level with him. “Agreed, but you know how private defense can be. And Blackwall may be sympathetic to defendants, but his record is fair for both sides. He won’t grant any motions without merit, for us or for them. Plus, I think we should let him know that we may have additional charges to tack on pending _moderate_ further investigation.” She squeaked out the word to emphasize its inclination toward the euphemistic. Unless they could find out who Archdemon was and link him to Corypheus, which would likely require much more than “moderate” investigation, the extra charges wouldn’t stick.

“I also think we should mention the difficulty we’ve been having with corralling our witnesses because of Corypheus’s…influence,” Cullen added, “influence” acting as non-prejudicial language for outright threats.

Halise’s smile brightened. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page.” She leaned in again, but her kiss was less chaste than the first. Her lips pressed against his lightly but insistently. They parted, sweeping up his bottom lip between them. When they parted again, she drew in a breath. The cold rush of air slipped across his moistened lip, nearly sending a shiver down his spine.

“You might want to shut the door next time, Torch,” Varric chuckled from the doorway. Cullen startled so hard he almost rolled his chair into the wall behind him. The dwarf just laughed again, as did Halise.

“And _you_ might want to try not being a peeping tom, you perv,” Halise quipped back. She lifted her case file off Cullen’s desk as he tried to slow his racing heart.

“Just calling it like I see it,” Varric countered.

“You were watching,” Cole’s ethereal voice echoed from somewhere down the hall.

The dwarf sighed out a snicker, shaking his head as he cast his eyes toward the ground. “You remember how we talked about your blurting, kid?” he said loudly.

File in hand, Halise sauntered out the door, hips swishing and swaying in that distracting way they always did when she knew she was right. As she passed Varric, she bent her knees a bit, swung her arm out, and swatted him right on the ass. He yelped in shock, but the smile never left his face. She kept walking toward the door leading to the public hallway and out of view, calling out, “Perv!” behind her and giggling her way down the hall.

Varric looked after her for a moment until, presumably, she turned a corner. His gaze shifted back to Cullen, who only then realized that he’d been watching the whole display with his mouth hanging open dumbly. He shut it with an audible _click_ of his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he thought that would help him process the scene with any greater amount of ease. His eyes only opened when Varric spoke up again. “Good to know she hasn’t lost any of her fire.”

“No, she most certainly has not,” was all Cullen could say to that. She most certainly had not.

*****

Halise’s mind refused to focus for most of the short ride to the District Attorney’s office. She alternated between rambling nonsensically at Cullen, who sat calmly and patiently in the passenger’s seat of her car, and complete silence. She’d started to come unraveled while they were at lunch, but by the time they parked, she was almost completely unhinged. She’d met the DA once for her final job interview more than six years ago, but it was more of a formality than anything, and he met with thousands of people a year. There was absolutely no way he would remember her.

Hands shaking as she shut her car door, she closed her eyes, took a slow, deep breath, held it, and let it out even slower. Cullen rounded the car to meet her, a sympathetic smile on his face. “If you need to,” he murmured, “you can always pretend you’re feeling faint and grab onto me.”

She giggled a bit, his remark finally having broken some of her tension. “I _am_ feeling faint! It’s not often that your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss asks to see you.” Cullen chuffed a bit before making a sweeping gesture for her to proceed.

The District Attorney’s office was housed in a Ferelden-owned high rise on the eastside of Denerim near the rocky coastline. Little doubt existed in Halise’s mind that the upper floors had incredible views of the Amaranthine Ocean. When she and Cullen entered the lobby, she noted that it must have been recently renovated. There were very few scuffs on the travertine floors, and the front desk had nary a scratch or etched doodle on its smooth wooden surface. For a government building, that was practically unheard of.

They followed the signs on the walls, entering the elevator a punching the button for the fourteenth floor. There were several other people in the elevator with them, preventing Halise from letting out her last bit of nervous energy. _You never know who’s in the room with you,_ she reminded herself. Sage wisdom from her Contracts professor in 1L year. As if on cue, a tall, buxom, very well-dressed, umber-skinned woman turned her head and eyed Halise appraisingly. With a nearly undetectable twitch of her lips and arch of her eyebrow, she faced forward once more.

The synthetic _boong_ finally sounded, opening the metal doors to a room occupied by a glass encased reception desk, a thick wall, and a wooden door. Several people in the elevator exited there, including the handsome woman who’d been so attentive in Halise’s direction. Most of them used ID badges to buzz their way into the wooden door, though the woman gave a little wave to the receptionist to buzz her in.

Halise defaulted to her standard first impressions behaviors, plastering a wide, toothy smile on her face as she approached the obviously bulletproof glass barrier around the receptionist. An older woman with a look on her face that was somehow friendly and skeptical all at once sat ensconced by the thick material. “How can I help you?” she chirped, cheerful and exhausted, like most government employees.

“Hi,” Halise answered, meeting cheer with cheer. “I’m Halise Lavellan and this is Cullen Rutherford.” They both displayed their ID cards. “We have an appointment with the District Attorney at one thirty.”

The tired-happy woman tick-tacked a couple of keys on her computer, using a finger to scan down a document on the monitor. She tapped it once with a little “ah,” turning her gaze back on Halise. “I’ll let them know you’re here, Ms. Lavellan. Please have a seat and someone will be out to fetch you when they’re ready for you.”

“Thank you,” Halise replied as sweetly as she could, despite the lead-like ball of apprehension growing in her gut. She and Cullen sat as instructed, both of them staring straight ahead at the gold letters mounted on the taupe wall that read, “Office of the District Attorney of Ferelden.” Below that, another set of letters, obviously newer than those above, spelled out, “Garrett Hawke.”

She blew out another deep breath, chewing on the inside of her lip and doing her best not to tap on her leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Cullen’s hand resting on his thigh. It scooted toward her just a bit before his pinky reached out, inching and stretching until his fingertip grazed her pencil skirt-clad flesh. The peripheral sight and light sensation brought a reserved grin up her lips, holding back only because they sat almost directly in front of the door. But she couldn’t maintain her expression for long. His pinky continued to poke at her and stroke her leg until all of her teeth showed in a wide beam. Just as she turned to look at him, and their eyes caught one another, the door opened.

Their heads whipped toward the door and Cullen’s pinky snapped back against his leg. A different woman—a much younger, but still weary-eyed elf—met them with a smile and waved them in. They stood and followed her, exchanging pleasantries as they passed through the maze of cubicles on their way to the office at the far end of the room. The door was closed, and like Halise and Cullen’s office, had no windows into the room. The slight woman knocked on the door, leaning her ear close to the reddish wood. “Send them on in!” a man’s deep voice hollered from inside. The elf gave the door's handle a little flick and pushed it open, gesturing for them to enter.

Halise spared the briefest moment to ensure her smile was wide and genuine, stepping through the doorway and turning to face the District Attorney’s desk. Garrett Hawke was a tall man, with  a frame rivalling Cullen’s. His hair was dark and rather shaggy for someone in such a high position in the government. He was dressed quite well, a black tailored suit hung snugly on his body, accented by a pale purple shirt and navy crosshatch patterned tie. In a chair beside his desk sat the woman from the elevator, coolly watching Cullen and Halise’s entrance.

The District Attorney looked up at them, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stood and rounded his desk to greet them. His hand outstretched, he crowed, “Halise Lavellan! It is wonderful to see you again!”

Halise barely kept her eyes from bulging as she took his hand. “It’s good to see you too,” she replied tentatively. Unable to hold back the question blaring like a siren in her mind, she asked, “I’m sorry but you remember me, ser? If I’m not mistaken the only time we’ve met was for my final interview more than six years ago, and it was only for about twenty or twenty-five minutes.”

He chuckled, a hearty, robust sort of sound. It was very endearing. “That’s entirely true, but you made me laugh.”

“I…what?” Halise was completely dumbstruck.

“You made me laugh,” Hawke repeated. “Usually, applicants are too scared to do anything but answer my questions as if I cold-called them in law school class. But not you. I asked you what you thought of the measure to reduce prison overcrowding by releasing nonviolent offenders early. You said—and I quote—‘Pardon my language, ser, but nonviolent my ass. The recidivism rate is so high amongst these quote-unquote nonviolent offenders—including felons who have assaulted peace officers with deadly weapons—that we might as well just start add-charging them now. In my entire twenty-four and a half years of life this is absolutely the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. And one of my college dormmates once suggested lighting himself on fire. On actual fire. This is dumber than that.’”

Cullen chuckled behind her, but Halise was frozen—trapped somewhere between pride and mortification. She did say that in her interview. To be fair, that ballot measure had gotten her whole family’s blood boiling to an aggressive, shouting-at-strangers-in-the-street level of anger. “I think I’d completely blocked that part of the interview out, honestly,” she replied meekly.

The DA laughed again. “Well I certainly didn’t! You were, far and away, one of my favorite interviewees of all time.” He turned his attention behind her, moving to shake Cullen’s hand. “And you must be her partner.”

“Yes, ser. Cullen Rutherford. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, ser. If I may, I can verify with one hundred percent certainty that was Halise. Sounds exactly like her.” She could hear the grin in his voice at her back. Both men shared another laugh.

Hawke crossed back in front of her, taking the hand of the woman in the chair and helping her stand. Not as if she actually needed help standing. She was the picture of poise. “This lovely woman is the head media relations officer for the Mayor’s office, Ms. Vivienne de Fer,” he said deferentially.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Vivienne purred, her velvety voice a perfect match for her appearance. Her hands did not reach for either of them, though Halise didn’t really expect her to be the handshaking type.

“And you,” Halise replied with a little nod.

“So,” Hawke spoke up again, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk as he and Vivienne retook their seats, “I’m sure you’re confused as to why I asked to meet with you, and probably as to why Ms. de Fer is here. Well, as I’m sure you both know, Mayor Theirin built a very strong platform about being tough on gangs. I can assure you, I’ve heard a _lot_ about it.” His tone was more than a bit irritated. Vivienne let out a small “hm” before he continued. “In any case, I’ve heard some murmurs about the FBI and your defendant—the one who obviously tried to blow you up. Incidentally, I’m thrilled he failed.”

Halise and Cullen both puffed out a laugh. “Thank you. Me too,” she said incredulously.

“As it happens, I have a friend who is an FBI Warden, and he’s noticed some alarming things going on in their headquarters. He called me about it just after he heard what happened to you. Unfortunately, he was a bit cryptic, and only told me about as much as I just told you. He asked me…” Hawke paused, digging through his desk drawer and pulling out a post-it note, “to have you call him at this number to arrange a meeting. His name is Stroud.” He and Halise stood, passing the post-it across the desk.

Halise eyed the note, the top stuck to her straightened index finger. It had been hastily written, the numbers sloppy and jagged. This Stroud must only have said the number once, and very fast. Cullen leaned over a bit to get a look at it, and she held it out to him low. Absently, he gently took the back of her hand, bringing it up closer to his eyes. To avoid the blush she could feel creeping up her neck, she spoke up again.

“Thank you Mr. Hawke. And Ms. de Fer, I’m sure there is more to your presence than Mayor Theirin’s interest in secret meetings that he can’t broadcast. You are the media officer, after all.” She was unaccustomed to being so blunt with people in positions of authority, but the whole situation was odd, so her usual sense of propriety when straight to the Void.

“My, how observant you are,” Vivienne replied coyly with another arch of her brow.

Halise struggled not to give her a face that said, “Um, hello? I’m a DDA, that’s kind of my job,” as she continued.

“Mayor Theirin will be hosting a diplomatic gala next weekend. The Prime Minister of Orlais, Celene Valmont and her entourage will be in attendance, along with our own Prime Minister Mac Tir. The Mayor, at my modest suggestion, has asked me to invite the Deputy District Attorneys and investigators from Skyhold to attend, with you as a guest of honor.” She pointed to Halise with a wave of her hand.

Something told Halise that Vivienne’s suggestion had been anything but modest. “That would be a tremendous honor,” she replied. “I will be happy to attend, as will my partner, I’m sure.” She glanced at Cullen, who gave a small nod despite his clenched jaw. “And we will be sure to take your invitation back to our office. I’ll bet most of our people will be thrilled to go.”

“Excellent,” Vivienne cooed, the first and only vestiges of a smile perking up the corners of her lips. She leaned forward a bit, handing Halise a business card. “Should you need any assistance in selecting a gown, my dear, please feel free to call me.” Ech.

Halise tried not to look put off when she smiled back. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that if I run into any trouble.”

The group exchanged its farewells as Halise and Cullen exited the office, handshakes and final jokes and jabs flying in every direction. Mr. Hawke really was a nice guy. Halise was sure to thank his assistant and the receptionist on her way out. _Always make a good impression._ It wasn’t until they walked out of the lobby and into the cover of the parking structure that she relaxed at all. The _clack_ of her heels on the cement steadied her as she and Cullen headed for her car.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked, daring to put his hand on the small of her back as her little blue sedan came into view.

“Now I have to bake twenty cakes _and_ go find a really kickass dress.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you know where some of the other major players fit in!!! I hope you like it!
> 
> The movie Halise quoted was "Super Troopers."
> 
> On a side note, if you do like this story, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. The rising hit counter can just be people clicking this and being like, "nah," so it'd be nice to know you're out there having fun! Thanks!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely NSFW.

The post-it note was taunting her. Halise couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with this whole Stroud and the FBI Wardens thing. Why had he been so short and cryptic with the DA? Why hadn’t he contacted Halise himself? Why couldn’t he just come into her office if he wanted to talk? The whole situation reeked of peril, trickery, and falsity. Shenanigans. She’d been chewing on the inside of her lip, staring at the stupid yellow paper with the then-worn out adhesive on the back for something like fifteen minutes when Sera came into her office.

“You still starin’ at that number?” the blonde elf asked, her tone one of impatience. She plopped a stack of papers on Halise’s desk, crossing her arms and looking down at her.

“I can’t figure all this out. There’s something way too weird about this.” Halise really couldn’t put her finger on it. With the adhesive worn off, she couldn’t really put anything on it. Ha.

“What’s to figure out? Pick up phone…” Sera lifted Halise’s phone receiver and snatched the post-it. “Dial number…” She punched in the phone number.

“Sera! Wai—” Halise grabbed for the receiver to slam it down. But Sera yanked it away with a freakishly quick flick of her wrist, simultaneously hitting the speakerphone button. The _brrr_ of a ringing phone sounded through the speaker.

“And talk when it stops ringing, yeah?” Sera set down the receiver, crossing her arms with an all too smug look on her face.

Halise shot her a wide-eyed glare. “Fuck, Sera! Cullen’s in court, and I don’t know what this is abo—”

“Yes?” a man’s voice answered curtly, setting the women scrambling for pens and paper.

“Uhh…Yes, hi. This is Halise Lavellan from the DA’s office at Skyhold. I was told to call this number. Is this Stroud?” She and the blonde both sat poised to write any pertinent notes on the backs of pages from a copy of one of Halise’s court transcripts.

“It is,” the man’s voice said. _Deep voice, accent? Not Tevinter, but?_ she wrote. “Thank you for contacting me so quickly. I understand your meeting was only a couple of hours ago.” _Seems calm. Why calm now?_ Sera was scribbling away, hunched over as she stood opposite Halise.

“Well, it seemed a bit urgent from the way Mr. Hawke told me your call with him went. Something about the FBI Wardens in relation to Corypheus? I’ll be honest, I’m a little confused at this whole situation.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. Halise and Sera exchanged shrugs and shakes of their heads before Stroud spoke up again. “Understandably so. Unfortunately, I can’t really discuss this on the phone.” _Shit. Evasive. Vague. Someone listening? Or just afraid someone listening?_ “I’d prefer to talk about this in person. Are you free tomorrow after work?”

A flash of her own body flying into a white sedan—fire chasing her through the air—stopped Halise’s breath in her throat. Not again. Nausea churned her gut just as she realized she’d been taking too long to respond. At Sera’s plaintive glance the redhead answered with a question of her own. “That depends…Can I bring my partner and my investigator?”

Another unbearable silence. This one drew out so long, the women thought the call may have disconnected. “Hello?” Halise finally probed.

“I suppose you’d attract more attention on your own than in a group,” Stroud clipped.

He was likely referring to the fact that her picture had appeared on the news and in the papers—“Victim of Car-Bombing Miraculously Survives!” and “Deputy District Attorney Dodges Shrapnel: Was She Targeted?” That old picture on her DDA ID badge—the one with the wide, bright-eyed, naïve smile plastered on her face—popped up on every local news broadcast for a day alongside a child abduction, tips and tricks to save on the electric bill, and the rescue animal of the day. Not how she would have chosen to get on the news if she’d had a say.

The man’s voice disrupted her thoughts. “You can bring them along, but no suits. Change before you get there.” _No suits. Inconspicuous. Someone watching or paranoia? Targeting or target?_

“And where is ‘there?’” Halise had a bad habit of staring at her phone when she talked to people on speaker. No doubt rooted in the long-held social norm of looking at the person with whom one is speaking.

“Three Trout Bar on Crestwood.”

Sera pulled an awful face, a blend of horror and disgust marring her otherwise lovely and petite features. Her pen nearly tore through the paper as she feverishly scrawled something down. She held up the paper for Halise to read. _That poncey hipster bar?! BARF!!!_ Halise could not have rolled her eyes harder, flipping Sera the bird and resulting in a less than friendly two-fingered salute in reply.

Turning her attention back to the phone, Halise answered firmly, “Okay. Tomorrow, six thirty, Three Trout Bar on Crestwood.”

“Good,” Stroud grunted.

Halise panicked when a _click_ ended the call abruptly. “WAIT! HOW WILL I KNOW WHat you…look…like?” Her voice when from a shout to a slow whisper upon her realization of the futility of asking such a question _after_ the other party had already disconnected. A heavy sigh pushed out of her chest, deflating her body almost involuntarily.

The blonde elf sneered, making a derisive little _tch_ sound. “That bar’s rank. Full of prats with man-buns and _ironic_ beards. You can’t like stuff ironically. Just means you like it.”

“Sera, seriously,” Halise said, exasperated with her forehead resting on the heels of her hands, “what does that have to do with this meeting?”

Another scoff. “You and Cullen’ll stick out. That’s bad for sneaky meetings. I’m short and got flannel to wear but you lot…‘S obvious the two of you don’t belong there. Especially Cullen. Has he got a single tee shirt that’s got stuff on it?”

Halise’s hands dropped flat against the desk as she slouched, looking up at Sera. Shit. She had a point. “I’ll buy us some hipster gear when I go to find a dress tonight—some defunct band shirts and fake glasses. Good enough?” Sera’s brows lifted and she cocked her head in a kind of nod. Halise sighed again, letting her eyes drift down to the stack of papers the blonde had dropped on her desk. “What is all that, anyway?”

“Finally got labs back on all the drugs. Had to go down there a couple days in a row. Met a girl. _We’re_ going out next week.” Sera’s fists sat triumphantly against her hips, a self-satisfied look on her face.

The redhead couldn’t help her incredulous smile. “Sera!!! That’s awesome! I can’t even remember the last time you had a real date.”

“Ey! I date! Not my fault it always starts and ends with a bang.” She chortled at her own humor. “This one, though…she’s funny. I like her. And she keeps _bees_! Weird, right?!” Her toothy grin was an ebullient reminder of how much she loved weird.

“Does this weird girl have a name?”

“Dagna,” she chirped.

“Well, alright,” Halise beamed. “Please thank Dagna for my lab work, and you better show her a damn fine time next week.” She pointed a swirling finger at her friend as she stood to leave her office for the night.

After grabbing her things, Halise left a note on Cullen’s desk and followed Sera down the hall. She passed by the investigators’ office, beelining—ha—for Josephine and Dorian. Poking her head into their office with a smile, she asked “Would you two mind coming shopping with me?”

“Of course!” they chimed in unison, eyes and smiles sparkling like the cat that caught the canary.

Mythal’s mercy, what had she gotten herself into?

*****

The frictional _bzzt_ of Cullen’s phone vibrating against his nightstand roused him from his slumber with a jolt. A sharp inhale through his nose sent enough air to his brain to wake him fully—a long-forged habit he developed in basic training. A flick of his eyes to his clock told him it was just after three in the morning. He’d only just fallen asleep, having had no idea how difficult such a thing could be without Halise all over again.

She’d left him a note in the afternoon. _Going shopping then baking a bazillion cakes. But I’ll see you in the morning._ _♥_ He’d sighed with a small smile that turned into a frown faster than he would’ve liked to admit. They hadn’t been apart for a night since…the incident at Haven. He was frightened to leave her alone, but felt terrible for having imposed upon her for as long as he had.

Cullen’s hand reached for the phone that had since ceased its buzzing, blinking hard to ensure he could read the screen when he brought it to his eyes.

 

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=3509no6)

 

His heart punched up into his throat, refusing to dislodge itself even as his thumb slid and tapped its way across the screen to return her call. What if she’d been kidnapped? What if someone had hurt her? What if a hospital or the police or an EMT were calling him to tell him Maker-knew-what?

The phone didn’t have a chance to ring a full time before someone answered. Cullen could feel every muscle in his body trying to fire at once, tension racking him to his core. A sniffle and two hiccupped little gasps slipped through the receiver into his ear. Someone was crying.

“I-I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Halise’s hoarse voice croaked. “It’s s-stupid.” Her words were broken and punctuated by the hiccups. She’d been crying too hard for too long.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen’s body refused to relax. There was still a chance she was in some danger. He needed to be ready to act. “Are you alright?”

“I h-had a…” She paused. He couldn’t breathe. “Oh this is so f-fucking stupid. I had a nightmare,” she blurted. The timbre of her voice betrayed her split second of irritation.

Air left his body in a rush so dizzyingly fast he thought he might lose consciousness. She was safe. “Thank the Maker,” he huffed. “I thought you were hurt or…” _Worse_.

“Oh shit, Cullen. I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t even think what this might make _you_ think. I’m such an ass. I j-just woke up and you weren’t here and I…I don’t know, I-I panicked. I was so afraid and my mind was s-screaming at me that something happened to you and—I’m sorry. Just forget this happened and go back to sleep. I’m s-sorry.”

“No, wait!” His hand instinctively shot out in front of him in a gesture to get her to stop. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

Silence stretched between them until he worried she might already have hung up. Another sniffle was his only sign she hadn’t. “Corypheus and Archdemon killed you,” she murmured. “They were cutting—” A series of sobs stopped her cold, lasting for aching moments while Cullen sat helplessly halfway across town. He should have been there. One more sniffle. “Fuck, Cullen…They were in that stupid interrogation room cutting you all over your body—reopening every scar. And I couldn’t get in. I screamed and threw things at the glass but it was bulletproof and the door was locked, and I just…Fenedhis…”

It was time to try a different tactic. One of hers. “What does that mean?” he asked, his tone genuine and inquisitive. _Throw her off balance,_ he thought to himself.

“What? What does what mean?”

“Fenedhis,” he answered. He butchered the pronunciation, he knew, but the question had to be asked. “What does it mean?”

“Oh. It—uh—It means ‘wolf dick’ in Elvhen,” she said softly, some of the sorrow banished from her voice. “I know it’s kind of a weird thing to say, but it’s a Dalish thing. The whole ‘Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf god who comes to kidnap bad kids in their sleep so they can all be bad together’ and all that. Honestly, I just grew up hearing it and started saying it when I was old enough not to get in trouble for it.” By the end of her explanation, Halise sounded almost amused.

“Duly noted,” Cullen replied, trying not to let the small smile on his face come through in his voice. Halise’s tactics really did work, even on her. “I can be over in twenty minutes if you’d like,” he added, foolishly hopeful that she would.

Another sniff. “No, that’s okay.” He tried not to feel quite so crestfallen. “It’s only a few hours before we have to get up for work anyway. Incidentally, I forgot to ask, do you have to be in court at all today?”

“No,” Cullen answered hesitantly.

“Okay, good. Don’t shave this morning, okay? And bring in some jeans. I promise I’ll explain at work.”

He had no idea what to make of her request, but he agreed, already scrubbing a hand against the stubble that had taken root in the past day. He would be assertedly scruffy by the time he had the opportunity to shave again. Their goodnights were quiet, padded on both sides with murmurs of, “I love you,” and, “See you in a few hours.” After they hung up, Cullen did his best to fall back to sleep, though he only managed to do so forty-five minutes before his alarm clock went off.

Halise was in much worse shape than he was when she arrived at work. Dark circles had made their home under her unfocused eyes, marking her exhaustion even through her make-up. Her ordinarily trained posture slumped and sagged as her head leaned to and fro, despite her best efforts to hold it up. Cullen had his coffee and wealth of experience with sleepless nights to keep him awake while she had nothing to help her. He pled with her to nap at her desk before their in-chambers meeting with Judge Blackwall and the insipid Samson and his partner, but she refused with a shake of her head and a wan “mm mmm.” He did have to hand it to her, though. She had actually managed to make and bring in about twenty small cakes for everyone, much to the delight of their cohorts.

Cullen gazed down at her in the elevator on the way to their meeting, knowing his worry was evident on his face. Her head rested on his shoulder, fiery curls cascading down his charcoal gray clad arm and back. Her body rose and fell with a sigh, compelling him to speak. “I think you should let me do the talking today.”

Her head rotated against his shoulder, turning her uncharacteristically dull green eyes to meet his. “Why?” she asked, devoid of any hint of her normal irritation or offense at such a suggestion. She wasn’t one to let others take the lead in her stead.

“You’re exhausted,” he answered plainly, “and I don’t foresee that going over terribly well when you try to discuss the constitutionality of the delay in trial. Besides, I can spin your weariness as a reminder that Corypheus tried to…” Maker, but he had a hard time saying it. “Kill you.”

He felt Halise’s fingers lace with his own and squeeze. “Okay, Lion, roar them right out of their shoes for me,” she grinned, her tired smile chipping away at the icy apprehension that clenched at his heart.

“I’ve never been terribly fond of that nickname,” he smirked. “It’s rather pretentious.”

“A nickname can only be pretentious if you give it to yourself. Besides, after months of watching you in court, I think I can safely say that it’s quite accurate. You are a fearsome opponent. Though, I suppose I didn’t have to watch you now to know that.” She lifted her head from Cullen’s shoulder, unlacing their fingers as they passed the last floor before their stop. “I knew it when I first met you,” she added as the elevator doors opened.

Cullen allowed himself a soft laugh while they stepped out. “I know. That was why you used such _underhanded tactics_ to beat me in mock trial.”

Halise chuckled as she straightened her posture, inhaling loudly and shaking her head and hands to right herself before they opened the door leading to the massive hallway. Lining the walls as they walked were the chamber doors for every judge in the courthouse. There were many more in Denerim than there were in Redcliffe, and Cullen knew that Halise had spent hours in her first few weeks researching every one of them. She’d learned their sentencing records, which ones preferred not to handle criminal cases, and who all their bailiffs were. His girlfriend was nothing if not diligent, a fact that swelled his chest with pride just in time for them to knock on Judge Blackwall’s chamber door.

Happily, Iron Bull, who happened to be Blackwall’s bailiff, cracked the door and a grin in answer. “Hey, kiddo,” he nearly whispered to Halise, who was undoubtedly beaming back at him. As he opened the door wider, they could see that Samson and Ms. Nerva were already waiting inside.

Cullen steeled himself for the encounter, staving off his desire to throttle Samson where he sat. Undoubtedly, that desire would only grow and fester during the meeting, and he could only control his anger so much for so long. He was piqued again at the sight of the sleazy man’s sleazy smile when their eyes met. It slithered up his sallow face like a serpent coiling to strike. The man was disgusting and obnoxious even before he opened his mouth.

“Cullen Rutherford! As I live and breathe!” Samson cried, standing and stretching his arm for a handshake. Cullen grasped his hand firmly but unwillingly, exerting his best efforts not to let his revulsion at the sensation of Samson’s clamminess etch itself onto his face. “How are you, you old sod?”

Cullen ripped his hand away, clenching his jaw in all of his attempts to remain civil. “I’m just fine, Samson.”

“You do look it. Cal, I told you Cullen and I used to be in the service together, right?” he asked, voice almost tangible—viscous and muculent as though it were a mire, intended to bog down anyone inept enough to wander toward it.

“You did,” his partner’s smooth voice sounded.

Cullen turned his attention to the comely blonde woman beside his former acquaintance, her smile a bit less oozy than her counterpart, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. “Ms. Nerva.” They nodded to each other and shook hands.

“Please, call me Calpernia,” she said coolly. “Though you may continue to address me more formally if it makes you comfortable.” She was certainly very different than Samson. He wondered how the two had even met. Calpernia was obviously from Tevinter, whereas Samson was born and bred Ferelden, much to Cullen’s disdain. She was also clearly more apt for the job than he was—better dressed, well-mannered, with an intelligence in her eyes reminiscent of that present in Halise’s.

His partner slash girlfriend greeted Samson and Calpernia politely, shaking their hands and exchanging brief pleasantries before they all took their seats. He almost didn’t notice the way her left hand opened and closed near his side as they moved. He imagined the feel of her palm, rougher and smoother for the jagged scar that ran parallel to her life line. The thought of what happened to her only served to agitate him further as his backside hit the cushioned chair. Samson and Cullen both sat near the center. Of course. The man even smelled repugnant—like cheap cologne and hair oil.

Judge Blackwall entered his chambers just in time to diffuse some of the building tension. He was some ten or fifteen years older than Cullen and Halise, though still young for a judge. His dark hair surrounded his face in a smoothed back haircut, thick eyebrows, and an abundant, but well-coiffed beard. Little touches of gray wound their way through the darkness, and rather deep wrinkles sat at the corners of his eyes, marking his age. But his steel blue eyes were sharp as knives, observant and wise, assuring that no “shenanigans” would take place in his courtroom or his chambers—Halise’s words.

“Good morning everyone,” he said, taking his much larger and much more comfortable seat while everyone returned his greeting. His voice was deep and rich, like dark leather worn in all the right places. “I understand we’re here today about the Festus case, which has been on my docket now for several months without a peep from either party.” He cast his eyes from the prosecution to the defense, studying and accusing all at once. “So, what finally merits this meeting?”

“That’s just it, Your Honor,” Samson answered, leaning forward and leering, “this so-called ‘prosecution’ of our client has run its course. It’s obvious the Inquisition—I mean the District Attorney’s office—hasn’t got enough evidence to manage a conviction against Mr. Festus, and they’re just stalling until they can come up with something.”

“The thing is,” Cullen interjected, trying not to seethe aloud, “you and your client already had a case that was on the verge of going to trial when he stabbed my partner in the hand in open court.” Halise held up her hand to remind everyone.

“Allegedly stabbed your partner,” Samson said.

 _Andraste grant me patience and Maker give me strength._ “At least six people saw the ‘alleged stabbing,’ including the victim, my partner, Ms. Lavellan. So please, spare us. Furthermore, Ms. Lavellan was also the victim of a recent car-bombing, of which I’m certain you are aware, Your Honor.” Blackwall nodded somberly with a glance at Halise’s tired eyes. “There is mounting evidence that the bombing was also _your client’s_ doing, which requires further investigation by DPD and our office’s investigators. But seeing as he’s targeted her before, and chased her from court to court all the way across Ferelden, there is little doubt that our combined efforts will uncover the necessary evidence to prosecute him for an additional attempted murder charge, arson, and a number of explosives charges. So, while we have ample evidence to prosecute on the existing charges, in the interest of judicial and public economy, our office would prefer to hold off on trial for another few weeks so as not to force an additional trial which the defense would undoubtedly prolong until they could present this argument again.”

“Meanwhile Mr. Festus is rotting away in jail—a notoriously dangerous place for anyone in his—”

“Mr. Festus will likely be in jail for quite some time, Mr. Samson,” Blackwall interrupted. “I’ve read the reports on the stabbing incident, and I can see the wound on Ms. Lavellan’s hand plain as day. And while Mr. Rutherford and Ms. Lavellan still have the burden of proof, I’ve no doubt a jury will find your client guilty on at least the charges related to that incident. So, to echo Mr. Rutherford’s sentiments, spare us.”

Cullen took the opportunity to tack on one last bit of important information he and Halise had gone over. “Your Honor, if I may also add, our witness list fluctuates with an irregularity surprising even to me and my partner. As gang prosecutors, we’ve seen any number of reluctant witnesses and victims, but never with such volume. Some of our witnesses have communicated directly to us that brazen threats are being made by the defendant’s associates to stop them from testifying. We are preparing to add witness tampering to Mr. Festus’s already staggering list of charges if we cannot find some balance here.”

Calpernia finally spoke up, her demeanor fixed and calm. “We are willing to wait no more than eight weeks for this trial to begin. Any time beyond that demonstrates a genuine disregard for the constitutional rights of our client, guilty or not. We will wait eight weeks for voir dire, but if this drags on any longer than that, we will be moving to dismiss on constitutional grounds, and have every intention of appealing to the highest court if such dismissal is not granted.” She stared straight into the judge’s eyes, their gazes almost warring with one another.

“I think we can all agree on that, yes?” Blackwall looked to both sides, watching and hearing their affirmative responses.

With that, everyone stood, shook hands, and left Judge Blackwall’s chambers. Cullen nodded at Bull, who’d been watching the whole ordeal silently near the door, and just caught Halise’s little wave at the hulking Qunari. He always turned into a massive gummy bear around her, smiling the same warm, sweet smile Dorian did. She seemed to have that effect on a lot of people.

The group of them moved silently to the elevators, the air between them so charged they probably could have powered the entire courthouse for a week. When they finally reached the elevator bank, Samson and Calpernia stopped and tapped the down button. But Halise continued forward, bidding them both a curt farewell as she headed for the stairs. Samson made some slimy remark that barely registered with Cullen while he followed the redhead, waving off the man a bit more dismissively than he might have meant to—at least outwardly.

Halise charged through the steel door into the stairwell, smashing it open hard enough to make Cullen worry anew. He nearly had to jog through after her to keep up, brow furrowing more with every step. The door barely missed him as it closed, clanking shut behind him. “Halise, what’s wr—”

His question was disrupted by the tug of her hands on his lapels and the hard press of her lips against his. She pulled him across the landing until her back hit the wall, at which point she spun them, slamming him against the cold, painted-over bricks. Their kisses were ardent and overeager, lips and tongues and teeth opening and closing and sliding and biting in a wave of pure sensation. One of his hands held onto the back of her head while the other cupped and squeezed her ass. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him to her. Hums and moans passed between them only to be swallowed greedily.

Cullen wedged his thigh between hers, using his hand to grind her against him. Halise sighed into him, moving one of her hands from his neck to his already stiff length. He groaned into her mouth at the pressure of her touch, hauling her up his thigh once more.

The sound of a steel door opening from two or three floors above them sent them scrambling apart like high schoolers caught under the bleachers during a football game. Halise stopped a couple of feet away, both of them standing silent and attempting to quell their panting breaths. The scuff of shoes descended just one flight of cement stairs before another door opened and closed. The two of them shared a look that combined fear with amusement, laughing breathily at the events that had just unfolded.

Halise eventually righted herself, closing the distance between them again. Her fingers straightened out his collar and jacket as she explained her sudden ardor. “Watching you steamroll those assholes was a fucking turn-on. You were so commanding and so…right! You really are something to behold, you know that?”

He chuckled softly. “As are you,” he retorted, giving her skirt a short tug down to its proper length.

They turned to make their way up to their office, but Halise stopped again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you why all the no-shaving and jeans and stuff. We have a secret meeting with an FBI Warden in a hipster bar after work. I bought you some clothes.”

“What?”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I failed to mention earlier that I'm basing Ferelden's Constitution on the United States Constitution (mostly because it's the one I know the law for, heh). The US Constitution's Bill of Rights gives people the right to a speedy trial, though that has been interpreted in many ways, especially given court overcrowding/hyper-criminalization in the country. Soooo, having to wait about a year for trial can be quite standard if there are multiple counts and motions are made in the meantime.
> 
> Lingo explanation - "Voir Dire" (vwah deer) - This is jury selection. It means "see, say" in French, and we use it because we get to see potential jurors and ask them questions to determine bias and whether they are qualified to be jurors on the particular case. Voir dire usually signals the official start of a case, because a jury can only be selected and/or sequestered (kept separate from society) once the trial proceedings are scheduled to start.
> 
> Aaaaaannnnd stairwell scene!!! Just because it would be terribly attractive to watch Cullen be all smart and commanding and...phew!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few songs noted in this chapter, though none are totally used (one line from one, and the other two are instrumental). In any case, you can listen to them [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URAqnM1PP5E), [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EHN_Brs5RE), and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AA2_6kS45E0).

The long drive from South Reach to Denerim gave Cullen time to think. He so rarely had a moment in his own untroubled thoughts, even living alone as he did. But as the scenery shifted from mountainous to plateaued woods, he dropped into his mind to wander about aimlessly. He perused through the events of his week, picking out moments of uncertainty or joy and mulling them over. He meandered over his tasks for the upcoming week—just one hundred and sixty-four pages of reading left before the end of the semester and the school year made it time to start finalizing his outlines at night. He also needed to go shopping to expand his suit collection for his summer clerkship with Judge Greagoir at the South Reach Superior Court. He despised shopping, but he wasn’t about to start his career off on the wrong foot by wearing the same suit to court every day.

His mind ambled to thoughts of Halise. He was on his way to see her for the first time since their mock trial competition. For the first time since they’d had sex. It had been poignant and passionate, and he wanted to do it again. Not because he chased the pleasure she brought him—that was a bonus—but because she made him feel completely human again for the first time since he could remember. The way she looked at him, the way she sighed and moaned so softly, the way her shoulders rolled with the arch in her back, the way her smooth legs felt wrapped around his waist. Maker, but he was lost in her. Weeks in captivity, months in recovery, and years of trauma, and he’d been brought to his knees by a redheaded elf with the most shockingly green eyes, foul mouth, and brilliant smile he’d ever seen.

He’d also met her father, Revassan, after their competition. He was one of so few men with whom Cullen had managed to share any kind of kinship since his service ended. Although Cullen’s relationship with his brother, Branson, was amicable and loving, they had never really been able to discuss his experiences at Kinloch or Kirkwall very openly. They were taboo topics, to be avoided at all costs. Revassan, on the other hand, spoke so candidly about his anguish. It was a shock to Cullen’s system to be looked upon not with pity, but with understanding as they’d talked over dinner. He’d also asked Revassan not to tell Halise about the conversation they shared one night after the sound of a bundle of balloons popping against a fence sent him into a blind panic that saw him curled on the floor of his bathroom for hours. Halise hadn’t mentioned it, which only served to exalt his trust in the confidence of her father’s counsel.

Halise’s persistent, beaming presence had truly altered Cullen’s life. He’d even gone so far as to reach out for summer clerkships with the judges in Denerim, though they had already hired DUSL students, including Halise, to fill their vacancies. She’d managed to clinch a position with one of the most highly regarded and experienced judges in Ferelden, likely one of the last he would offer given his age. Cullen’s relationship with her would continue to be long distance for the foreseeable future, a thought which made his heart sink a bit, even as the Denerim skyline came into view.

Thoughts of the more distant future crept in while his SUV wound through the streets toward Halise’s apartment. They both had about a year and three or four months until they were done with law school and the bar exam—if they both passed the first time. But what then? He wanted to be with her. Of that much he was certain. She gave him a vitality he couldn’t put words to, and as selfish as it was, he needed that. But where would they be? He loved his family in South Reach, as strained as their relationship with him could be sometimes. He’d be happy staying there. But would she want the same thing? Would she even want to be with him after they finished school? It stood to reason she might want to be with someone more…healthy when she set out on her path as an undoubtedly stellar attorney. What reasons could she have for wanting to be with someone as broken as him?

Before he had a chance to realized it, Cullen was pulling into the parking lot of Halise’s apartment complex. About a dozen beige stucco-clad two-story buildings spanned the complex in a haphazard layout surrounding a large, open parking lot smattered with brown carports. Gray cement staircases led up either side of every building to weathered but sturdy walkways that allowed access to the second floor apartments. Halise’s was an upper end unit in one of the central buildings, and her staircase ended on a sidewalk near the edge of the well maintained asphalt.

As he pulled up, he noticed a cloud of fiery red curls, pale skin, and a yellow sundress perched on said staircase with her chin resting on her hands, elbows propped up on her knees. Halise jumped up when she saw him, purse in hand and grin on her face. Cullen couldn’t help his answering smile. She looked beautiful as she bounded down the stairs, despite her near tumble when her foot caught the edge of a step. Her sunshine colored sundress flowed around her thighs and her hair bounced and swayed merrily. The smile on her face only widened when Cullen threw his SUV in park and got out.

Halise broke into a run when her azure slipper shod foot hit the sidewalk, and leapt toward him, arms outstretched. A giggle burst from her chest when their bodies crashed into one another. Cullen held her tightly, suspended in the air just a bit as he turned his head to nuzzle his nose into her hair until he reached her neck. A hum rose from her throat and her arms tightened around his neck. “I missed you,” she murmured.

“I missed you too,” he replied, feeling the moisture of his breath spread in her hair, amplifying the scent of blueberry and mint. Her head drew back just enough for them to kiss. It came like a balm to him, easing his tired and frazzled mind. She was a whirlwind and a breeze, frenetic and calm all at once.

He finally set her down slowly as their lips parted. Halise beamed up at him with eyes brimming with warmth and tenderness. “What were you doing sitting on the stairs?” he asked. “I hadn’t even texted to tell you I was here.”

A bark of a laugh lurched out of her, and she brought her fingers up to cover her mouth apologetically. “Sera left a bell on the door.”

Cullen’s brows knit together quizzically. “She left…What?”

“A bell. It means she’s got a girl over. She says it’s an early warning system. For me so I don’t come in, and for her if I don’t notice or have to come in anyway. Plus, I think it’s funny.” She took a step back, grasping his hand delicately and dancing herself around in a little circle. “ _You can ring my be~ell! Ring my bell!_ ” she sang as she spun. Her eyebrow arched lasciviously when she faced him again, drawing a chuckle out of him.

“So how long are we locked out?”

“Eh, pfft!” she waved dismissively. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be that long. But I have plans for us, Counselor. We’ll be out for hours if everything goes accordingly. It’s also why I wore a dress.” She curtseyed, her fingertips still latched onto his hand.

He looked down at his attire—a black tee shirt, moderately worn jeans, and black leather slip-on Skechers shoes—and back up at her skeptically. “Am I dressed for whatever these plans are?”

She cocked her head at him, answering with an accent like an actress from a black and white movie, “Darling, you’re a looker. I could take you anywhere dressed in nothing but a paper bag and you’d fit right in!” A mirrored smirk curled both their lips. “Seriously it’s fine. You look great.”

“And you look beautiful.” He spun her around by her fingertips again, taking her in from top to bottom as she twirled.

“Flatterer.” He walked Halise to the passenger side of his SUV, opening the door for her and guiding her in. “And a Fen-damned gentleman, too!”

Cullen snickered as he rounded the front of his vehicle and got in. “So where are we going?” he asked, simultaneously turning both the key in the ignition and his head to look at the woman he loved. Truly, he loved her.

“Downtown,” she chirped back, fastening her seatbelt. “To a supper club called ‘The Hanged Man’ for dinner and dancing. The name’s a bit tawdry, but what can you do?”

Dancing? Cullen was not a fan of dancing. Watching people dance? Fine. Dancing himself? Less fine. “I—Um—I’m not much of a dancer,” he stammered. “It wasn’t exactly something I picked up in Templar training.”

Halise eyed him appraisingly, no doubt taking note of the worried hopefulness in his expression as she nibbled on the inside of her lip. With a shrug and look of mild disappointment, she replied, “That’s alright. The food’s still pretty good. Plus, Bill and Al are there lots of nights, and I’m sure there will be an octogenarian or two willing to take me for a spin.”

The mere mention of Bill and Al’s names welled a pointless jealousy in Cullen’s gut. His memories of their dance months before had forever etched themselves in his mind. The idea of octogenarians, however, piqued his interest as he backed his vehicle out of its uncharacteristically hasty, crooked parking job and made for the driveway. “Just what kind of supper club is this?”

A wry smile twisted her lips. “You’ll see. Hang a right out of the driveway and head for downtown.”

The Hanged Man bore a stark façade against the rest of the grossly overpopulated maze that was Downtown Denerim. Its exterior was painted a rich, almost slick black, with a blue neon sign bearing the club’s moniker in a font that harkened back well past retro and into vintage. A female dwarf that could easily have been a body builder and a lean Qunari man, both clad in black tuxedos, guarded the door, arms crossed and faces stern. As Halise and Cullen approached the door, he noted something familiar about the dwarven woman, whose expression went from dour to practically giddy when she saw Halise.

“Brenna!” Halise cried out gleefully, stretching her arms out in a wobbly sort of run and embracing the woman. “Seeing you in that tux will never get old. Brings out your buffness.” She flexed an arm and the women tittered.

Brenna, whose hair was tied up in a complicated braid and knot on her head, turned her attention to Cullen. After a brief squint, her eyes widened in recognition. “Coffee shirt!” Halise snorted, hunching over in her laughter. “You two are a thing, huh?” Cullen felt his face flush and his hand slide up the back of his neck. “I thought you two had chemistry when you came back into the Singing Maiden and sat down.”

 _Ah_. That was where he recognized her from. She’d handed him his coffee just before Halise dumped hers down his front. He gave her a close-lipped smile and a shrug, feeling his eyes roll up and away in avoidance of her gaze. Something else was bothering him. A headache was slithering its way through his brain from back to front. Perhaps a mild spot of lyrium withdrawal. _No matter_ , he thought. It would pass.

The exterior, while intriguing, belied the grandeur of the interior. A long stairwell led them down into a vast, dimly lit room with several different areas. A subtle blue glow hovered around everything, emanating from lightbars and bulbs scattered about the space. The bar was set up near the far wall, complete with black-vested bartenders with slicked back hair. Tables and booths spanned the large room, filling every open space, with the exception of a large black marble dance floor. A band that seemed prepared to play any genre of music sat the length of the room across from the bar beside the floor. A lone guitarist plucked away a tune that sounded at once like jazz, though it was also reminiscent of a song one might hear in an old Western movie as the hero reclined in a field somewhere.

“I love this song,” Halise said, tearing Cullen from his thoughts and reaching for his hand as their feet hit the bottom of the stairs. “It’s called Ryland.”

The sound of the name was so familiar, Cullen’s head nearly whipped around to lock their eyes, sending a shockwave of pain rippling through his head. “I know a man named Rylen. He and I served in the Templars together. One of the only men I still talk to from back then.” She beamed warmly at him, easing back thought of his headache if only for a moment. “This song actually sounds a bit like him.” He spared a moment to ruminate on his tawny friend with the thick Starkhaven brogue and bold tattoos, bringing a little smile to his lips.

Somehow, despite the growing crowd in the room, they were seated quickly at a booth. Cullen took a second to scan the room for all the doors and entrances, taking a seat on the side that faced the most points of entry—a remnant of his Templar vigilance that hadn’t seemed to fade. Halise swept in beside him, rather than across, leaving their faces just inches from each other. He took a moment to admire the nearly invisible freckles over her cheeks and the glittering ring of yellow around her pupils before cupping her jaw in his hands and kissing her. Their lips lingered against each other after the kiss ended, soft echoes in every brush of sensitive skin for the endless instant before their waitress arrived.

Alcohol rarely, but occasionally helped Cullen’s withdrawal symptoms, though he never ordered enough for intoxication to set in. Vigilance was not well-kept, nor were decisions well-made without a clear head—as clear a head as was possible given the burgeoning pain. Bearing all of that in mind, he ordered a scotch, neat. Halise pursed her lips at him in a funny kind of smile. “A scotch man, huh?” Turning back to the server, she ordered her own drink. “I’ll have a 16 oz. Stone Bitter Chocolate _Oakmeal_ Bourbon Barrel Stout, please.” Her tongue faltered at the unusual portmanteau.

The guitarist picked at his strings in a slightly more up-tempo new tune as Halise and Cullen launched into conversation. They discussed law school as their drinks arrived, comparing professors and outlines while they sipped. Before long, dinner was ordered, and Halise asked after Cullen’s family. He’d told everyone about each other, but his two sisters, brother, brother-in-law, and two baby nephews had yet to have met his…Actually, they hadn’t discussed what they really were to one another. If she ever did meet his family, how would he introduce her? He was fairly certain he’d called her his girlfriend when he had spoken of her, but was that really what she was? The ache in his head throbbed at the idea that she may have had no desire for such a title.

Pushing the thought aside as dinner arrived, he noted that Halise’s beer had run dry, as had his scotch. He pointed to her glass. “Would you like another one of those?” His brows lifted unconsciously.

Her gaze followed his hand to the end of his finger, flicking back up to his eyes with a little crinkle of her nose and shake of her head. “No thanks,” she answered. “I never have more than one. Too many stories of deuced morons from my dad when I was a kid. Nothing scares a little girl straight quite like hearing about the college girl who broke out all her teeth when she passed out against the bars of her cell after lifting her skirt and peeing in the middle of a booking room full of men.”

Shock, disgust, and mild amusement painted Cullen’s features before he could stop them, prompting a smirk and shrug from the lovely redhead beside him. “He really told you about stuff like that?” His tone was more incredulous than he’d meant it.

“Well, yeah. You want your little girl to stay away from booze, that’s a sure fire way to get the job done!” She nodded to his empty tumbler. “How about you? You need another one of those?”

His temples throbbed in protest at the mere sight of the glass, and he did his best not to grimace. “I don’t think so. My normal limit is two, but I think I’ll stop at one tonight.” _Don’t blow this,_ his mind reminded him. _Don’t ruin the night by letting her know about your terrible headache that might turn into a migraine at any moment._ “I’m driving, after all.” _Not a very clean save, but it should do._

It didn’t. At least, he was fairly certain it didn’t. Halise’s evaluative stare had settled on him once again. Her harlequin green eyes—he’d spent hours on the search engine, Schmooples, one night trying to find the name of their astounding color—darted back and forth between his. She sighed, crossing her arms and leaning back against the vinyl seatback. It groaned and squeaked under the fresh pressure and friction of her body that, up until then, had been leaning toward Cullen. His “save” hadn’t worked.

“So, what is it? If you have more than one you can’t stop? Is it alcoholism or are you a mean drunk? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Her face betrayed a blend of concern and disappointment, striking sudden sorrow into his heart.

“It’s none of those things,” he answered softly, likely barely audible over the silky rendition of Erroll Garner’s “Misty,” that he’d only just realized a portion of the band had begun playing. The image of his mother and father slow dancing in the living room of his childhood home in Honnleath flashed behind his eyelids in time with a momentary flourish of the piano. The love in their eyes as they swayed, holding each other close. He wrested it away from his thoughts with an infinitesimal shake of his head. Of all the songs they could have played.

Refocusing on the breathtakingly dour woman before him, he raised his hand and swore, “Hand to the Maker, Halise. It’s none of those things. I just can’t…” He struggled to find the words to explain his normal reasoning—the reasoning that left him with an abiding need for lucidity and didn’t involve his ever expanding headache. “I can’t let anything get in the way of…seeing?” He sighed, his body deflating, hands dropping into his lap helplessly. “Maker’s breath, I—I just…I can’t…”

“Prolonged hypervigilance,” Halise murmured in interruption. She drew the inside of her lip between her teeth for a fleeting trice, watching his apparently befuddled face. “You’ve been in a prolonged state of hypervigilance, and you can’t let it go. Not all the way anyway. Did you think I didn’t notice the way you checked the exits and sat to face most of them? My dad does the same thing. Most of his buddies do it too. ‘See them before they see you,’ they all say.” Her hand came to rest over his, clinging delicately to his relaxed palm and stroking tiny circles over his knuckles with her thumb. “I get it. I’m sorry, I didn’t even consider that might have been the reason.”

At her offer of an apologetic smile, and just as the song came to an end, Cullen swept her into his arms. How could someone love another person so much when they’d only truly met a handful of times? Yet there he was, besotted by her. And as her hands slipped up his back, he wondered, hoping against hope, if she was as in love with him as he was with her. They’d said their “I love yous,” to be sure, but he was certain she couldn’t feel that he was as perfect for her as he knew she was for him. She understood him to a fault, and frankly, it was unnerving to feel so strongly.

The scent of blueberry-mint filled his nostrils, likewise filling his mind with a sense of serenity. His fingers grazed the skin between her shoulder blades, bared by the sunny sundress, and he focused on the sensation of her breath as the small bulb of her nose brushed against his neck. Part of him thought he should release her, let her straighten her back so he could look at her again. But so much more of him felt in his element when he held her. So they stayed like that, for how long he couldn’t have said.

“Mythal’s mercy!” a very masculine voice rang out from behind Halise’s back. “The girl lives!”

Cullen hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until they flew open, shooting more pain through his skull. Halise’s hands slid down his back, letting go of him to face their intruders—at least, that was how Cullen thought of them.

Bill and Al, as Halise had called them, looked down amusedly from beside the table. Bill’s arm was wrapped around Al’s waist, while the elf’s knuckles brushed back and forth across his chin expectantly. With his other hand, he pointed at them. “So,” he purred, “you two are still a thing, huh?” Why did everyone insist on calling their relationship, or whatever was going on between them, a thing?

“And you’re still a jackass,” Halise bit back harmlessly, rising to hug her dance partners. “Guys, you remember Cullen. Cullen you remember Bill and Al.” The two men chuckled at their nicknames.

“It would be hard to forget either of you,” Cullen answered, reaching from his seated position to grasp their hands one by one.

“Same to you,” Bill added with a laugh. He turned his sights on Halise just as the music started up again. The whole band struck up a rather jaunty, vaguely recognizable tune. The brunette released his blonde counterpart, taking Halise’s hand in his with a little bow. “Care for a spin?”

Her wide white teeth bared themselves through her beaming grin. She tilted her head in a little curtsey and emphatically replied, “Of course!” Bill smiled and escorted her out onto the glassy black dance floor.

Al took a silent seat across from Cullen, the two only sparing a glance and amiable nod to one another before turning their attentions to their paired partners. Cullen marveled at the sight of them. The ease with which they moved together was deeply impressive. Their feet shuffled and tapped at the ground in rapid, bouncing steps, Halise’s skirt fanning out around her with every deft spin in Bill’s firm yet gentle grasp. He dipped her and twirled her about the dancefloor until the song reached its conclusion. They parted enough to applaud the band’s musicianship, and Halise threw her head back in an exultant, “Whooo!” tugging a breathy laugh up from Cullen’s chest in spite of his then undoubtable migraine.

Pain and dizziness increased rapidly. Cullen bid a weak simultaneous greeting and farewell to Halise’s dance partners as they recoupled and left him to find their table. But Halise did not return. She’d already been swept up into another dance by a man who had to have been in his mid-sixties. It was only then that Cullen took a look at the people around the room. Everybody in the vast space was either in their twenties or over sixty—no one in between. It was a rather confusing juxtaposition, though with the visual aura that was all at once white and rainbow, flashing and static, and blinding in impediment and brightness, he could hardly contemplate the age gap.

Shallow breaths fizzled in and out of him as he watched Halise laugh with the older gentleman dancing with her. Cullen didn’t want to interrupt or ruin her good time, although he suspected he would have had a rather hard time doing so in his existent condition. As the next song ended, more applause erupted from the crowd, pummeling his ears excruciatingly.

He glanced up enough to see Halise sort of dance-walking on her azure-clad toes to where he sat. He attempted a smile, but worry crushed her exuberant expression at the sight of him. Her last few steps were rushed—on her toes not because she was dancing, but because she was running. Her knees slid across the vinyl seat until they rested against his hip and thigh, a feeling he would have relished immensely under different circumstances.

She wrapped his head in her hands, holding his unsteady gaze to hers. Cullen watched her look into his eyes, her stare clinical and consumed with anxiety. He felt terrible for having ruined their evening. “Your pupil dilation is really irregular,” she observed. “Are you having a migraine right now?” All he could manage was a nod. “Fenedhis, Cullen, why didn’t you say something? Come on, let’s go home.” She threw her purse over her shoulder, practically hauling him from the seat.

Faint awareness of his surroundings was the best he could do as they left. He clung to the flimsy handrails and Halise’s hand in their ascent to the front entrance. Brenna’s worried voice was quelled quickly with Halise’s calm tone on their way out. He half saw the redhead sitting very far forward on the edge of his SUV’s driver’s seat while she took them home. The bell on the door was gone, as was her roommate for the evening according to a note left on the refrigerator.

Halise deposited Cullen in her bed, disappearing and returning with water and two elfrootprofen tablets. “I feel a sense of déjà vu,” he muttered through gritted teeth and a crooked grin, basking in the temporary joy brought by laugh that puffed out through her nose.

“There’s just been a little bit of a one eighty,” she retorted softly. Despite the pounding headache, his visual aura had largely dissipated by then, leaving his vision clear to see her kick off her shoes. She turned her back to him, pushing her hair over her shoulders and briefly exposing her swirling, twisting tattoo to unzip her solar flare of a sundress. Cullen’s pulse pounded in his ears when she slipped it off and made quick work of her bra, tossing it to Maker-knew-where and snatching up a nightshirt to throw over her head. Every move was practiced and quick.

When she turned back toward him, she immediately started working his shoes off of his feet. The left one slid off, then the right, clunking to the floor heavily and carelessly—not the way he normally doffed his shoes, but he was hardly in a position to complain. Before he knew what was happening, however, she had already shucked off his socks and crawled up the bed, straddling his hips, fingers hovering above his belt and waistband. “On or off?” she asked, an unassuming, innocent smile curving her lips up at the corners.

A thick swallow bobbed his Adam’s apple in his throat. “Uh—I—Lady’s choice,” he finally mumbled, quirking the corners of her mouth up higher. With a few elegant, fastidious motions, she unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and began drawing them down his hips. He lifted himself, helping her wriggle him out until his pants lay in a heap beside his shoes on the floor.

Halise crawled into bed next to him, drawing up the comforter to cover their bared legs. Several taps of her thumb on a remote control later, her television played a movie on Nugflix, prompting her to flick her bedside lamp off. Cullen had scarcely known what to do with himself until that moment. With her maelstrom of a body settled, she reached for him, encouraging him to ensnare her waist in his arms and rest his head on her chest. He happily obliged, pulling his stomach flush against her side.

Finally settled, he and Halise sighed in unison, her breasts temporarily obscuring the television in their weighty ascent—perhaps the most welcome obstruction he’d ever witnessed. The pain in his head still throbbed, but it perturbed him less by the minute, and far less when her fingernails scraped across his scalp. With the perfect amount of pressure, she massaged his atlas and occipitals—the points where his head and neck met, and where migraines tended to originate. He only knew because he’d researched for her. Never for himself, despite his many years as a migraine sufferer. Only for her.

His eyes drifted closed, blocking out the faint blue glow of the television as she continued her ministrations. A fleeting question eked into his mind, made real only by his asking. “What does your tattoo mean?”

“Hmm,” she sighed quietly. The cool air from her nose wound its way through Cullen’s hair, leaving a light tingling in its wake. “Technically, I guess it’s a religious tattoo. I’m sure you’ve already figured out that I’m Dalish, and the tattoo is representative of one of our gods—our Creators—Ghilan’nain, ‘Mother of the Halla.’ A lot of Dalish dancers choose her for their sort of patron Creator because of the grace inherent in the halla. I liked how it looked, and I’m not particularly religious, so I went with her too. Although, sometimes now I wish I’d gone with Mythal or Andruil for knowledge or force…” Her voice faded off for a moment, as his mind threatened to do with her skillful fingers massaging away his agony. “But I suppose it’s all kind of superstitious anyway. In any case, that’s what the tattoo’s about.”

He could only hum his understanding. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the nearly inaudible hiss of her even breathing, and her tender attentions were about to drag him off to sleep. “I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you tonight.” His lips barely moved when he said it.

The last words he heard before sleep claimed him were, “That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me someday.”

If he had any say in the matter, he absolutely would.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was that about Cullen's parents?
> 
> Well, now we know where some things came from (and maybe some things that have yet to happen?).
> 
> Terminology time - "Deuce" - cop jargon for drunk (at least where I work)
> 
> And finally the songs. I used a line from Anita Ward's "Ring my Bell" ([here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URAqnM1PP5E)), referenced Julian Lage's "Ryland" ([here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EHN_Brs5RE)), and also referenced Erroll Garner's "Misty" ([here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AA2_6kS45E0)). All of them are wonderful in their own right, but I must especially recommend "Ryland" and "Misty," because they're both lovely, and can help give a sense of the ambiance.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depiction of torture below.

“No. This is ridiculous.” Cullen looked himself up and down in the mirror on the wall above the sinks in the men’s room of the office. Thank the Maker everyone had already gone home. The idea of stepping out of the restroom, let alone the office, with anyone around to see him dressed so…unlike himself was deeply embarrassing.

He eyed himself disdainfully. Halise had outfitted him to a precise set of specifications—obnoxious ones. He wore an oversized—“slouchy,” she’d called it—black beanie she’d crocheted years before, paired with matching thick-rimmed fake glasses. Under an open red, white, and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black and yellow tee shirt with the logo for the long defunct Andrastian hair metal band, Stryper, sat uncomfortably over his chest. At least he got to wear his own jeans and shoes.

“Oh, come on. I bet you look great! Well, acceptable,” Halise pleaded through the door. “Passable?” How unconvincing she was.

“Stuff it, General Uptight, I’m with Halise. You have to look like the type of prat who listens to Mumford & Sons and Bon Iver and that other shite.” Sera’s voice was muffled. She’d obviously pressed her face against the door.

“I do listen to Mumford & Sons,” he spat back, his eyes refusing to release him from the torment of his own reflection. The impish elf’s signature scoff and chortle were all the reply he needed to know what she thought of that.

“If you’re not coming out, I’m gonna come in there and drag you out,” Halise warned. “We’re going to be late if we have to wait much longer for you to come to terms with your douchier side.”

A heavy sigh pushed its way out of Cullen’s chest as he squared his shoulders. If he was going out there like that, he would damn sure own it. He turned and opened the bathroom door. Sera narrowly avoided tumbling through when it swung inward, but she caught herself before hitting the floor. Pity, that. Another raucous chortle rose up from her when she looked him up and down as he passed her by, but his eyes were locked on Halise.

He was almost instantly transported back to the day they first met. She wore the very same blue beanie over her loose red curls, accented by similar glasses to the ones he wore. They reminded him of the oversized sunglasses that had blocked his view of her stunning eyes. A loose sky blue shirt with a picture of Audrey Hepburn from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” billowed around her, the wide, scooped neck giving him the slightest peak at her pale cleavage. Skinny jeans and black and white Converse rounded out her trousseau. No bare feet. He actually felt a strange kind of longing to see her duo-chromatic toes. They’d been a constant presence in their tumultuous history. But they were caged away from his view behind cloth, rubber, and shoelaces. In an odd way, it made him feel as though her personality had been hidden away from view alongside them.

That was, until he looked back up to see her lips pressed together and nostrils flared, her shoulders rising and falling heavily as she tried desperately to suppress the grin working away at the corners of her mouth. There she was. Her bright eyes passed over him, a nod of approval bobbing her head as she chewed on the inside of her lip. “I hate to say you look good because I know you’ll never wear this stuff again and I quite frankly hope you don’t, but you look _very_ good,” she purred.

Her tone and the look in her eye shot heat through his body like a lightning bolt. Despite feeling foolish in his state of dress, had Sera not been there and had they not had a meeting to go to, he might have taken her right there. He would have swept her off of her feet, ripped those jeans off, and rutted her into the Maker forsaken wall. Another heavy sigh rattled out of him. This was not the time to be thinking about such things. They did have a meeting to go to, and Sera was there. His hand crept up the back of his neck, feeling a flush rise up his cheeks at the inappropriateness of his thoughts. “T-Thank you, I suppose,” he replied.

Halise arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling under it as though they were both being pulled up by the same string. Cullen smiled back a bit self-consciously, causing her to cock her head at him. The moment between them was shattered by Sera’s brash voice. “Yeah, yeah, everyone looks good, now can we please go?” She passed by him, very intentionally bumping into him with her yellow plaid covered shoulder before casting a wide smile back at him and sticking her tongue out. He chuckled, following her and Halise, and unabashedly watching his girlfriend’s backside as they left the building.

He drove them to the Three Trout Bar, watching his rearview mirror to an almost obsessive degree. They would not be ambushed or attacked again. He knew Sera was still armed, but he’d also stowed a 9 mm handgun in his glove compartment that he planned to slip into his waistband before they went inside. He had a concealed carry permit—easier to get after being a Templar—but he’d never felt he needed it until then. For years he’d really just worried that he might use the gun in a fit of anxiety or one of his withdrawal-induced hallucinations. But in that moment, there were very real dangers that they may have been walking right into.

Halise braided her hair over her shoulder on the ride to the bar. She said it would make her less recognizable, but Cullen thought the outfit and fake glasses would have done that well enough. Still, the long braid cascading down her arm did have a certain charm about it, though she was right, it was very unlike her. She was wild and unbound. Even when her hair was gathered into a ponytail, her curls flowed about freely, their riotous brilliance undeterred by the single tiny binding. The string of knots forming the braid locked all that away from the world. Another piece of her obscured.

When they arrived at the Three Trout, Cullen sought out a parking spot in full view of the entire interior. He rounded the block several times before a woman moved her gargantuan minivan out of the parking space directly in front of the bar. Once parked, he leaned over Halise a bit, opening the glove compartment and stuffing the black handgun into his waistband behind his back. She cast him a worried glance while Sera barked something about being glad she wasn’t going to be the only one armed. He did his best to reassure her with his eyes and a soft touch on her forearm, though it clearly did little to accomplish his goal. They exited the vehicle in near silence, entering the bar as warily as they could without attracting attention.

From the moment they walked in, all he wanted to do was walk right back out. The obvious sense of pseudo-individualism and entitlement was overwhelming. It made itself plain in the aggressively mismatched bar stools, the haphazardly repurposed Maker-knew-what the owner intended to pass off as tables and chairs, and the sloppily written chalkboard drink menu behind the bar. As a group, he, Halise, and Sera made their way to the bar—dirty, unfinished wood, of course—with Sera elbowing some oaf with a man bun out of their way just enough to order from the selection of pompously named drinks. Who’s impractical mind thought of the names for them, anyway? “Get Hissing Wasted,” “Blades of Hess-Ale-Rian,” “The Ferelden Frostback.” Insipid and feckless.

“These drink names are fucking stupid,” Halise whispered as she turned away from the bar to face him. _Mind reader._

Cullen smiled down at her, gratified to be on the receiving end of the little turn of her lips. Her eyes left his, scanning the room behind him while he watched his SUV out window. Every time someone walked by, which was all too frequently in this neighborhood filled with phony environmentalists who refused to drive, he held his breath. His body was ready to spring into action at any moment, taking down anyone who meant to do them harm by whatever means necessary.

“Do you think that’s him?” Halise murmured to Sera, who pivoted then to look at whoever the redhead was referring to.

“Fantastic fucking mustache, that!” the blonde elf quietly exclaimed. “He’s lookin’ at you. And at me. And at Cullen. And at the door. Bet you’re right. I’ll go see.”

Cullen turned—his hand in his back pocket, close to the gun—to watch Sera approach a sturdy looking gentleman in his mid-thirties with what was indeed a rather impressive horseshoe mustache. She leaned over with her hand on the waistband of her jeans, speaking quietly to the man before flicking a finger at Halise and Cullen to join them.

Trepidation welled up in his gut with every step toward the mustachioed man. Mercifully, the seat that faced the door was left unoccupied, allowing Cullen to slip in and watch his car whilst maintaining his ability to see their mysterious informant. Halise sat beside him, across from the man, with Sera on her other side.

“Ms. Lavellan, I presume?” the man asked. His accent sounded somewhat Orlesian but had a slight unidentifiable tinge to it.

Halise nodded. “Stroud?”

He nodded in return. “So this must be Mr. Rutherford and Sera…I’m sorry I couldn’t find your last name anyw—”

“Just Sera,” she clipped. Her blue eyes bored into the man next to her.

“Alright,” he said, his tone placating and passive. “I must apologize for the rather…clandestine nature of this meeting, and for my vagueness on our call, Ms. Lavellan. I’m afraid I’ve been targeted in an internal investigation by the FBI Wardens. An investigation which could only have sprung from false accusations made by one Warden in particular.”

Cullen’s eyes shot to his still undisturbed SUV, then to Halise, then back to Stroud. “If you’re under investigation,” she began, “why should we trust whatever it is you have to tell us?”

“I understand your hesitation, but this one Warden to whom I am referring…Well, to put it plainly, I believe he has ties to the Magisterium, and that he targeted me when he found out I was looking into him.” Stroud sighed through his nose, sparing a glance toward Cullen, who just leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Was the man name dropping the notorious Tevinter cartel to cast off suspicion, or was he telling the truth?

He watched Halise’s methodical gaze slice right through Stroud, feeling a little overly satisfied at the way it so clearly unnerved him. “Okay, say I believe you, and there’s a Magister plant in the Wardens who’s trying to frame you for Mythal-knows-what, what does that have to do with the Corypheus case?” Her fingers laced together under her chin, her intelligent eyes never leaving the Warden.

Cullen was proud of her. He felt it so powerfully in that moment, it was undeniable. He knew she was exhausted, that fear likely sat very close to the forefront of her mind, but there she was, staring down a man she knew would be armed and suspected might harm her. Her face was the picture of perceptive serenity, body language unafraid and imposing. She was unstoppable.

“This Warden is pretending to run Archdemon as a confidential informant.”

It was as if all the air vanished from the bar in that instant. Every sound was silence, every breath a struggle in a vacuum. “There is a Warden…” Halise paused in her disbelief, “who knows who Archdemon is. And he’s pretending to run him as a CI?” Stroud nodded somberly. “And he didn’t bother to stop his C-fucking-I from blowing me to the Void?!” She leaned halfway across the table, and might have sprung the whole length if Sera’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop her momentum.

“You can see, Ms. Lavellan, why I had to speak to you about this in person, and why it couldn’t be at your office.” It wasn’t a question.

Cullen heard the long, shaky breath shudder out of Halise, and saw the thick swallow roll down her throat. He knew firsthand that composure and rational thought could be difficult things to regain when shocked and incensed. But he watched her expression shift, watched her lips come together once more, watched her eyes regain their focused determination.

“Is it safe to assume you have proof of all these accusations?” Stroud nodded again. “Then why haven’t you given it to your boss?”

“The Warden in charge of our office, Assistant Director Clarel, insists she’s following protocol in the investigation against me by not accepting any ‘retaliatory’ accusations or evidence. But I suspect the Magister, Warden Livius Erimond, has something over on her. I’ve checked our policy manual, and there’s nothing in it about retaliatory evidence. I’ve also tried to go over her head, but I either hear nothing for weeks or get a voicemail left on my machine after hours about following the chain of command. I’m getting nowhere.”

“And what about taking your evidence to the Ferelden Attorney General’s Office?” Cullen finally chimed in. There had to be some reason he was seeking out their help.

“Honestly,” Stroud started as he placed a large folder on the table, “I thought, given what happened, you might want to talk to Erimond first. See if he’s willing to give up Archdemon for your case against Corypheus once he sees this mountain of evidence. Maybe he’ll drop his allegations and I can get back to work in the field.” His hand sat atop the file, and he slid it back toward himself by the smallest margin, nearly making the three of them jump to grab it. “If you prefer, however, I can take it to the AG’s Office. But if I do that, I can’t guarantee Archdemon’s identity won’t remain sealed as a CI, or that you’ll have any access to him once the AGs get their hands on him.”

“Trap,” Sera almost shouted, drawing stern glares from Halise and Cullen. “Something stinks. This sounds like a trap. How do we know you’re not playing us, and we meet this Eri-mouth or whatever, and he kills us? Up close and personal-like.”

Everyone turned to Stroud once more. “You should come to our headquarters at Adamant when he’s there—”

“Stupid name for a headquarters,” Sera interrupted.

“Confront him in his office while there are a hundred other Wardens around, myself included,” he concluded, unperturbed.

Halise turned to Cullen, and they shared another communicative look. Her viridescent eyes asked if he thought it was a good idea. Without a word, he told her the he worried it might be dangerous, but she should go with her gut. A tiny tilt of her head said there would be other Wardens there, and they might not get another opportunity to discover Archdemon’s identity. A slow blink and nod was Cullen’s answer.

Halise’s nimble fingers lifted the file from the table and found space for it in her too-large gray leather tote bag. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll come by next week, after we’ve dealt with the Mayor’s diplomatic event this weekend.” _Maker’s breath._ Cullen had almost forgotten about that. “I’ll call you to arrange a time.”

Without another word or gesture exchanged, Cullen, Halise, and Sera stood and left the table. Cullen experimentally pressed the button on his key to unlock his car, doing his best not to flinch when the headlights gave their chipper blink. Nothing happened. Nothing and no one exploded. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They were safe. At least for the rest of the day.

*****

Halise sat alone on her sectional the night of the meeting, her exhausted eyes wandering over the contents of the file Stroud had given her—photocopies, phone records, and photographs. She’d practically begged Cullen to come home with her, but he rebuffed her. He had other urgent business to deal with before he went home. What urgent business could someone possibly have at almost eight o’clock on a weeknight? Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull were likewise occupied, as was everyone else in her office, it seemed. Were they all out having fun without her?

No. The odds were just that everyone was genuinely busy. They all had lives to lead outside the office, after all.

It was probably for the best, though. She only managed to focus on the evidence for about half an hour before sleep weighed her eyelids down to an untenable degree. As she ambled off to bed, she prayed to the Creators and whoever else might be listening not to have a nightmare like the one she’d had the night before.

But no one was listening.

Screams rang out through the empty cell blocks of Denerim Central Jail. Halise ran barefoot through every floor, searching every locked cell and alcove for the source of the blood curdling screaming. The echoing emptiness of the cells bounced the screams into her ears a thousand times over, each one dissipating just in time for the next to begin, making it that much harder to follow them to their point of origin.

Finally, amidst the wails and roars, she managed to find a single unlocked door. She flung it open with a rusty _squeak_ and darted inside only to find herself in an observation room. A single stool, a light switch, and a nearly wall-sized piece of thick glass were the room’s only occupants, their eerie silence almost as deafening as the bawls and bellows emanating from the other side of the glass. Halise’s eyes followed her ears, turning to see what she already knew would be there.

A thick pool of blood, both coagulated and fresh, spread across the floor of the interrogation room. Strong, bare feet and the metallic legs of a chair bore a stark contrast to the smooth, almost placid blood. Halise’s eyes traced up bare legs, noting the soft blonde hair that wisped over their surfaces. Next, she saw the man’s torso and arms, smattered in a myriad of scars, both healed and open, some gushing blood to feed the ever expanding pool below. His face—Cullen’s face—was bruised and broken. The scar she’d always seen as such an attractive feature sat open again, jagged and bloody, exposing his wounded gums and teeth below. His autumnal eyes were blackened, nearly swollen shut by the severity of his injuries. Blood matted down his golden blonde curls, leaving a grotesque texture she could almost smell and feel through the thick glass.

Around Cullen’s writhing, screaming, tortured body strode his captors. His torturers. His tormentors. Corypheus and Archdemon, their bodies hideously deformed and larger than life, swirled around Cullen. Haunting crystalline formations jutted out of their bodies at ghastly angles, rending their sallow flesh in tattered pieces. Corypheus’s body looked as if it had been stretched skyward, his midsection terrifyingly slim and bony. Archdemon’s sharpened smile gleamed beneath skin that had gone almost scaly, his frayed, ratty hoodie stretched and hanging from his arms like wings.

With claws and instruments they cut and tore at Cullen’s body, wresting horrifying, nauseating cries from him with every touch. Tears poured from Halise’s eyes, blurring her vision of the atrocities being committed against the man she’d loved for most of her adult life. Instinctively, she flicked the light switch upward, lighting up the space in a way she knew would let those in the interrogation room see her. All eyes watched her, wry smiles twisting the faces of those evil men. Their grins grew when Halise slammed the side of her fist into the glass and screamed. They continued their victimization and tyranny even as she lifted the steel stool and smashed it into the window. It bounced off, leaving nary a scratch in its wake. She kicked at the clear surface until she felt the bones in her feet break and splinter, though there was no pain for her. No pain for her, but pain immeasurable for the man she loved.

Halise ran with a limping gait to the door of the observation room only to find that it, too, had been locked. She was trapped. Forced to watch as pure evil and malice stole the joy she’d only found again so recently. In a final act of what may have been malevolence or mercy, Corypheus hauled Cullen’s chin up, exposing his neck, and slit his throat from ear to ear, splashing hot blood across the glass. The ichor obscured his death from her view, but she could hear his choked gurgling and final rattled breath even through her own deafening screams.

Her eyes flew open with a sharp gasp. The inky darkness of her bedroom and the thick, sweat-dampened blankets on her bed enveloped her. Tears streaked down her cheeks while choked sobs pulsed through her chest. Suffocating, she kicked the blankets away from her body, exposing her sweat-slicked skin to the cool, climate-controlled air. She rolled onto her side, curling into herself as guilt-grated whimpers eked out of her dry lips.

She thought about calling Cullen—confirming to her mind that he was alive and well halfway across town—but she couldn’t do that to him two nights in a row. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her shins, huddled her chin against her knees, and wallowed in the misery of her visions until dawn brightened the sky on the other side of her curtains.

Her morning routine was an exercise in weary determination. She would get through the day, no matter how sleep-deprived or shaken she was. She would get through her Fen-damned day.

The obviousness of her exhaustion was made plain once more on her arrival at the office. Everyone she passed remarked about how “tired” or “awful” she looked, which by no means helped her self-esteem. Still, they were right. She felt awful, and had very little doubt that she looked it.

Cullen wore his worry in the furrow of his brow, the downcast corners of his lips, and the consternation of his tone. “Maker’s breath, Halise, are you alright?” he asked, letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

“I’m…Um…I’m just tired. I’m fine,” she muttered, walking past him to get to her desk. His gentle touch slipped from her shoulder down her arm, and she caught his fingers with hers for a moment before letting go.

He followed after her, his three or four footsteps audibly hesitant. When Halise took a seat at her desk and tapped her voicemail button, her messages played over the speakerphone as she scrubbed her hands down her face. _Thank Mythal I don’t have court today,_ she thought. A couple of people on her witness list left her messages agreeing to testify against Corypheus. Apparently, standing up to the dick-biscuit after he tried to blow her up had garnered her some street cred.

Cullen hadn’t moved. He looked down at her, helpless apprehensiveness obvious in his eyes. Halise sighed, feeling worse as she returned his gaze. “I had the stupid nightmare again,” she finally murmured in answer to the question he hadn’t needed to ask. Her tone betrayed the shame she felt in her admission. He’d been dealing with nightmares for so long, and she couldn’t even manage for two nights. What a weak person she was.

He rounded her desk, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms so quickly her vision blurred. “Why didn’t you call me?” his muffled voice said into her neck.

“I didn’t want to bother you with it two nights in a row,” she answered, the sting of imminent tears making her feel even weaker. She hated crying at work.

“You could never bother me, my love.” His arms tightened, his powerful fingers holding fast onto her biceps. “I want you to call me when you have a nightmare. I want you to lean on me. I’m here to support you, both as your second chair and as your boyfriend. You have to trust that I mean that in every way.”

Halise let her hand come to rest on the back of his neck. “I do,” she replied softly, a few small tears slipping free of her resolve. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. But will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course I will. I’m sorry I didn’t last night,” he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. He swiped a thumb across her cheek to wipe away the moisture there while he continued. “I had to buy a tux for the Mayor’s event. It’s been quite some time since I last wore one.”

A tired grin swept up her lips and squinted her eyes. “Why didn’t you have me come with you? I’m sure I could have helped.”

“I—uh—asked Dorian and some of the other men from the office to join me,” he answered, looking a bit sheepish. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, as it turns out, almost everyone needed something to wear. We saw Sera with Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine while we were at the mall.”

A single grunt of a laugh pushed its way out of Halise’s nose. “So you guys really were all having fun without me.”

Cullen scoffed, “Hardly. I hate shopping, especially for clothes. Dorian and Solas, much to my surprise, seemed to have the greatest fondness for the exercise. Bull, Varric, Cole, and I sort of sat back and let them do the choosing. I went with one of Dorian’s choices.”

“I am very curious to see what he picked out for you. Though I’m sure it’s ‘of the highest quality’ and ‘painfully handsome,’” she smirked, mimicking Dorian’s voice and cadence.

“It’s as if you were there,” Cullen chuckled. He brushed a light kiss over her lips, but when her eyes closed, they chose to remain that way even after he moved away. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home? I know Cassandra would understand if you did.”

Before she could answer, a whisper of a knock tapped at their office door. Through sheer force of will, Halise managed to open her eyes enough to see Cole and Solas standing in their doorway. Cole’s face was almost expressionless, though his eyes looked just a bit concerned. Solas, on the other hand, let his brows knit together and a little frown curve his lips. Cole had a pillow in his hand. Where had he gotten that?

“I brought you this,” the ethereal young man said, holding up the very comfortable looking pillow. “We keep it for children to hold. It helps them feel better when they talk. But you should use it to take a nap. You’re very tired, and it will help _you_ feel better.” He was disarmingly sweet and hopeful for someone who had to deal with those who, in Halise’s opinion, were the worst of the worst—the dregs of society. He was also a little blunt.

“I’d like to offer you my office for a couple of hours,” Solas added. “I can work at your desk, and you can sleep in the quiet seclusion for a time, if that is agreeable to you.” Always so proper. Somehow even more so than Cullen, if such a thing was possible.

Halise smiled wanly but warmly at the men in the doorway. Cullen gave her one little nod of approval, and another as a gesture for her to go. Reluctantly, she stood, crossed the room, and accepted the pillow from Cole. He smiled at her, a sight she so rarely saw from him. She murmured a quiet thank you to Solas and reminded all three of the men that they should come get her if anyone needed her. She had every intention of being back in an hour and a half. One good REM cycle was all she needed.

When she awoke three hours later, however, she cursed herself quietly. She felt better, to be sure, but knowing she’d missed hours of work dropped a pang of guilt onto her like a cinderblock. She stood from Solas’s too-comfortable chair—no wonder he was in his office all day—and wobbled back toward her office.

She stopped just outside her door when she heard Solas’s voice. “—that you and Ms. Lavellan have grown very close. I can see you care for her a great deal.” What an odd time for him to bring that up. _Have they been sitting in total silence for the past three hours?_ she wondered.

The sound of Cullen clearing his throat almost made Halise laugh. She could practically see his hand at the back of his neck. “I do,” he finally replied.

“That is good to hear. Though, an admonishment, if I may—take care that your relationship does not affect the work either of you do. You are both true assets to Skyhold, and I would hate to see that negatively impacted should anything go awry.” He sounded so sincere, but there was a definite tinge of warning in his tone.

Halise didn’t know how to feel about him saying that. Part of her was flattered that he felt so strongly about their work, while another part was irritated that he would insert himself into their affairs in such a way.  Cullen’s voice interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral any further. “Rest assured, Solas, nothing will go awry.” He sounded so certain, and that certainty grounded her as she stepped through the door into their office.

“Solas,” she grinned sincerely, “thank you so much for letting me use your office. I had an awesome nap, and I think I’m ready to get back at it. I really, really appreciate it.”

The elf smiled smoothly back at her, closing his laptop and rising from her desk. “I am very glad to hear it,” he said, darting his eyes to Cullen for just a split second. He took the pillow from her hand as he passed her, leaving their office as quietly as he’d come in.

Halise turned on her heel to face Cullen, putting her hands on his desk and leaning forward to kiss him. When their lips parted, he smirked at her, quirking up his scar—the scar that made him more attractive not because of its alluring appearance, but because of how strong he must have been to endure the pain of receiving it. “What was that for?”

“I just agree with you,” she said. “‘Nothing will go awry.’”

Mild embarrassment flushed his cheeks as she watched him. Silently, she prayed to the same entities that hadn’t listened in the night. She prayed that they would listen, and she prayed that she and Cullen were right.

_Please let us be right._

***** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Cullen was and was not a hipster for an hour or so. ^_~
> 
> Next stop, Mayor Theirin's Diplomatic Gala!!!


	18. Chapter 18

“I’m feeling suuuper naked,” Halise whispered to Sera. The back of the limo the women from the office were riding in was awash with varied attire, but Halise couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d picked the wrong dress for the evening. Josephine and Dorian had sung the garment’s praises, she just couldn’t reconcile the amount of skin she was showing with the amount of hoity-toity people meant to be in attendance at the event.

“Shut it, you,” Sera spat back, uncrossing her arms just enough to poke the top of Halise’s left breast. The redhead swatted her away with a meritless look of warning. “You’re gorgeous as always. I’m stuffed in a suit. Hate suits. They’re trappy and…stuffy.”

Halise eyed the suit her friend seemed to despise so much despite having selected it herself. The jacket was bold—thick black and white vertical stripes accented by a wide black lapel that she’d adorned with a silver bee pin. The simple white shirt, black pants, and black patent flats wore like accessories to that jacket. It suited Sera to a tee.

“Well, you may hate _wearing_ the suit, but you look awesome.” Halise paused to look around at the other women. Josephine giggled away at something Leliana had just whispered in her ear. The pretty Antivan’s gold gown was every bit the tasteful, elegant garment Halise would have suspected she would wear to such an occasion. Leliana had poured herself into a shimmering purple sheath with a high neckline and somewhat low back. Cassandra, like Sera, had opted for a suit. Her jacket was more subtle than Sera’s—a well-tailored gray pinstriped jacket with a black lapel and black pockets—though they both wore white shirts and black pants. Halise adored Cassandra’s shoes. They were black and red wingtip stiletto booties—a daring stylistic choice that was completely unexpected from the stoic woman.

“Everyone looks amazing,” Halise continued. “Meanwhile, my arms, shoulders, back, and most of my tits are out for the world’s leering pleasure.” It was true. Her gown basically began at her cleavage, rounding under her shoulder blades in the back. It was icy blue, the bodice coated in extravagant embroidered flowers and leaves that extended to dangling straps hanging around her biceps. The billowy tulle and chiffon skirt started at her waist, embroidery matching that on the bodice and scalloped lace edging the bottom. It was just long enough that her glittery gold high heels—matching her clutch—would be visible when she walked or moved, but not when she stood still. Her hair was left mostly down, only two one-inch-wide pieces twisted loosely away from her face, holding the rest back off her cheeks in the process. Josephine had even insisted on a bright red lipstick to stand out against Halise’s pale figure.

The only bit of her outfit she was certain about was her necklace. It was also the only thing Josephine and Dorian had both objected to. It didn’t fit with the rest of her ensemble, or so they said, but she didn’t care. She’d had to dig it out of a jewelry box she kept buried under a pile of clothes in the back of her closet for safekeeping. All her favorite and most expensive pieces lived in that box, and this particular necklace held a reverent position amongst the rest, however silly it had been. Still, she knew one person would like it.

“You look stunning,” Leliana purred, her accent making it sound so sincere. 

“I agree,” Josephine added. “You would fit in perfectly at any Antivan diplomatic gala, and I’m certain the same can be said in Ferelden.”

Josephine and Dorian had more in common than Halise had thought upon her first meeting with the woman. Over lunch, they’d discovered that her family had a long history of involvement with the Antivan government, though she’d taken her role so much more seriously than Dorian had. Her original intention in going to law school was to join her powerhouse of a family in their empire to further cement their position. But she’d undergone a change of heart after working with the legal aid clinic during school. One woman had come in with her two children after having lost everything to a man who’d defrauded her out of her life savings. Josephine was helpless at the time, but she realized then what her true calling was. Her parents had been loath to accept her change of heart at first, but supported her after she’d proven her capabilities over a couple of years. It explained a lot about her.

Likewise, Cassandra, who had smiled softly and nodded in agreement with Josephine, was also more than met the eye. Surprisingly, she was actually a member of the Nevarran royal family. Her relation was somewhat distant, but she still had a place in line for the throne in the event enough of her relatives died. She’d joined the Seekers, a branch of the military a bit different from the Templars, after she’d graduated as an officer from their university in Ferelden. She’d won a few meritorious service medals she hated talking about—just doing her duty, she explained—and left with an honorable discharge. She’d considered joining back up in their JAG Corps after law school, but the District Attorney’s Office had gotten to her first. Skyhold and the “Inquisition” were much better off for her presence. She was the best supervisor Halise had ever worked for.

As she regarded the car-full of remarkable women, the limo came to a halt. Halise moved to exit, but Josephine reached forward to stop her. “We’re in the limousine line,” she said with a small smile. “It will be a few more moments before we are allowed to exit.”

Halise’s answering grin was bashful at best, foolish as she felt. “Whoops. Still new to this.”

“Don’t worry, there will be much less pomp and circumstance once we enter,” Cassandra finally said, breaking her silence with a disgusted noise.

“Mayor Theirin will likely want a photo-op with you the moment we exit the car, so be prepared to be swept away from us rather quickly.” Leliana’s gentle warning came with a coy smile, undoubtedly because of the rumors about Mayor Theirin’s reputation with women.

He was beloved by the citizens of Denerim, elected twice and likely to be re-elected again in the upcoming election. That being said, tabloids leapt at his every move when it came to women. He was single, though years before he’d had a very public engagement to an FBI Warden who died preventing a terrorist attack on the city. Since her death, whispers circulated about every woman the mayor stepped out with, as well as his…sexual proclivities. “Is She the One?” “Mayor Theirin and Prime Minister Mac Tir: Behind Closed Doors.” “Two Women Not Enough for Insatiable Mayor.” Inevitably proven false every time. He’d made a small fortune in defamation and libel settlements, in fact.

But Leliana was right about the photo-op. The moment their limo made it to the front of the line, and an unseen valet opened the door, cameras flashed from every direction, the cacophony of clicking shutters nearly deafening. Vivienne had been lying in wait for Mythal-knew how long, a floor-length white shift with a plunging neckline cutting a striking and beautiful contrast against her lovely umber skin. She greeted Halise softly, linking their arms together and leading the redhead toward the red carpet.

Halise struggled not to whirl her head in every direction in a vain attempt to find Cullen, or anyone in her party for that matter. Vivienne had so skillfully separated her from her coworkers, and Halise had no idea whether the men had gotten there before or after the women. She let her eyes wander about in the search, not wanting to appear unseemly in any photos that popped up online or in the press by whipping her long hair about.

All too soon, Vivienne released her, ushering her toward an empty spot on the red carpet. “Smile, my dear. And do try not to blink,” she cooed before nearly shoving Halise into the eyeline of countless photographers.

A moment of possibly visible bewilderment later, Halise was smiling as she let her eyes pass over the melee before her. Her smile was reserved, letting just her top teeth peek out from under her red lips. She’d heard once that smiling too wide in a professional photo—like the one on her DA ID card—caused unnecessary lines on the face. It was vain, but she had to put forth the best image she could with the publicity her trial seemed to be raking up at every turn. Her eyes watered from the searing light streaming down from two massive lamps that, combined with the flashbulbs, was almost unbearable.

After what felt like twenty minutes of unblinking grinning, Vivienne swept her up once more, waving coolly to the bank of photographers. “You did well, my dear,” she murmured as they approached the door to the Denerim Plaza Performing Arts Center. “But be prepared. More of the rabble await us inside, and they’ll be trying to catch you and Mayor Theirin in any compromising position they can. Also, do not be surprised if the mayor,” she paused, a thoughtful expression cast over her face as she considered the most delicate way to say, “creates such a compromising position.” That last bit was worrisome.

With each swing of the door ahead of them, more and more people slipped into view inside the warmly lit hall. Halise took another moment to see if she could find any of her friends or Cullen. Yet again, her eyesight came up short in spotting her party. The loss of her companions began to wear at her mind, anxiety creeping through in measured doses.

When Vivienne finally led her through the large doors, Halise was in awe of her surroundings. Amber light filled the space, which was decorated with every vestige of Harvestmere in Ferelden. Garlands of orange, yellow, and red leaves that she offhandedly noted were only from Ferelden native trees were strewn about, festooned from each crystal chandelier and bannister. Centerpieces of fully-bloomed embrium in tall vases filled with maroon berries bedecked rich golden tablecloths on every table. Little fragments and hints of Ferelden and Denerim were scattered throughout the scene—flags, art, and products everywhere. But she barely had a chance to marvel at the grandeur, or to look for her people, before Vivienne whisked her away again.

Mayor Theirin stood in a cluster of obviously wealthy benefactors at the far end of the room. Halise took note of his features as her biased chaperone guided her toward him. He was handsome, to be sure, much more so than the unflattering tabloid photos painted him. His reddish hair—normally quirked up in the front—was smoothed back away from his face. And a fine face it was. Sandy hazel eyes flitted from person to person, carefully ensuring each one of his patrons received their fair share of his attentions.

An unmistakable kind of exhaustion hung under those lively eyes, on either side of his prominent nose. It was the kind of exhaustion recognizable only to others who felt its pull. Halise saw it because she felt it, as she saw it on Cullen, and in some of her coworkers. It tugged at her on long nights before trials, in moments she realized she was offering a plea deal to someone who didn’t deserve it, in interviews with victims’ families. It was the exhaustion of doing a thankless job with more heartache than reward, and Mayor Alistair Theirin suffered at its hands just as much as she did.

When those tired, bright eyes locked on her, though, something in his manner shifted. Little crinkles formed about his face—next to his eyes, on his forehead, at the corners of his mouth—as he smiled at her. It was so genuine, Halise found herself smiling back without a thought. Only the whirring shutter of a nearby camera set to rapid fire stirred her gaze from his, and even then only for an instant. She understood then what all these women he may or may not have been sleeping with saw in him.

“Halise Lavellan!” he shouted, holding his hand out for her to shake. “It is fantastic to finally meet you!” His enthusiasm painted his already upbeat voice with an extra coat of affability.

She grasped his hand, unendingly grateful that he didn’t give her one of those “woman” handshakes—when the man grabs the woman’s fingers and shakes her like a dead fish. Instead he held onto her firmly, and just a bit too long. As she withdrew her hand from his she answered, “It’s lovely to meet you too, Mayor Theirin—”

“Please, for the love of the Maker, call me Alistair,” he interjected, stitching his brows together plaintively.

“Alistair,” she corrected herself, despite her discomfort at addressing him so informally. But if he wanted to be familiar, she could be familiar. “I have to admit, Alistair, I find it terribly unnerving how many important people seem to know my name.”

His grin grew even wider at her admission. “Important people have to know who other important people are. That’s how it works, unfortunately. And you, Halise, are important.” He took another step toward her, forcing her to tilt her head up a bit to look him in the eye. Compromising position.

Halise let a laugh puff out of her. “Not important. Just doing my job, like my coworkers, who I seemed to have lost incidentally.” She deliberately looked away from him to scan the room again. The feeling of his attentive gaze seared into her temple, cheek, and neck.

He chided her with three clicks of his tongue. “No, Halise. You’re a hero to the city of Denerim—to all of Ferelden, really. If I had a hundred people like you, I imagine there would be no criminals left.”

“You do,” she replied plainly. If he was flirting with her, she needed to let him know as gently as possible that it was all business between them. “You have a few hundred more like me, actually. The deputies of the Ferelden District Attorney’s Office are all committed to—”

“No, no,” he interrupted again. Warm fingers pulled her left hand up between their bodies, palm arched skyward under the firm press of his left thumb. He brought her spoiled palm too close to his face—much too close—and examined it critically for a moment. Compromising position. “No, Halise, none like you. You’ve bled for the people of Ferelden.” His tone had softened substantially. With his right hand he brushed the hair away from the thin scar on her neck. A hard blush flooded her face as he eyed the marred flesh. Compromising position. “More than once. But here you are, still going after a dangerous criminal who’s tried to kill you twice. You’re a credit to your profession, Halise, and I for one, am in your debt.”

A thick swallow made its way down her throat. He was making things…difficult. “Well, thank you, Alistair,” she managed without stammering. “I appreciate the compliment. But I think it’s about time I find my friends.” A rather curt smile found its way onto her lips, less out of irritation than nerves.

“Well you’ve certainly found one here,” Alistair quipped with a chuckle. “If you wouldn’t mind posing for one last picture?”

 _I’m sure you’ve gotten enough pictures to last both of us a lifetime._ “Sure.”

The mayor released Halise’s hand as they turned to face the photographer whose camera had been whirring away the entire time. Just as relief washed over her that she’d soon be free of the confusing feelings he was stirring in her gut, his hand slipped around her waist, holding her close while he leaned his head down beside hers. She knew he could feel her hold in a deep breath as she smiled for the photo. How could he not?

Photo-op finally over, he turned to her and murmured, “Sincerely, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.” A small, rough piece of cardstock scraped up her palm, her thumb instinctively gripping it against her forefinger. Those eyes, warm as the desert they resembled, burned into her, but she held them to hers in a kind of defiance—her last stand.

“Thank you,” she purred, letting her red lips curl into a smirk at her pause, “Alistair.” She let his name roll around on her tongue, tasting it, savoring it—at least that was what she hoped he thought she was doing. She only wanted to show him two could play his game. Maybe throw him off a bit.

Without waiting to revel in his reaction, Halise turned her back on him, walking away toward the bar she’d spotted on her way in and brushing past Vivienne on her way. A strange satisfaction pumped through her bloodstream. She wasn’t even entirely sure why, but the entire interaction had been somewhat invigorating. It readied her to face the rest of the evening head on. She didn’t even look at the business card he’d slipped into her hand until she knew she was well out of eyeshot. Of course, he’d written a cellphone number on it before the evening had even begun. He had those ready. Well, at least one.

She snapped open her clutch and dropped in the card just before she reached the bar. Mercifully, every man from her office was waiting at the bar—and Sera. Cullen had his back turned to her at first, though he turned to face her as she approached, scotch in hand. Damn, did he look good in a tux. The single-button black jacket with the barely shimmering silken lapel sat perfectly on his frame, the hint of his musculature just slightly visible with the bend of his elbow. A white pocket square peeked out of his breast pocket.

Halise beamed at him, but his answering expression was nearly unreadable. For a moment, anyway. His autumnal eyes traced her from top to bottom and back again, darkening with every little twitch. His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly in a heavy swallow, his temples pulsing as his jaw clenched and unclenched. His hungry stare stopped below her throat, but above her breasts. Ah. He noticed her necklace. A nearly invisible tic tugged his eyebrows, marking his recognition of her adornment. When his eyes flicked back up to meet hers, his features melted into something she could only describe as pure love—soft, disbelieving eyes, parted lips raised into a tiny smile, brows creased up as though he was worried she didn’t remember what she was wearing on her neck.

“Halise,” Cullen murmured once she was within earshot, standing a barely respectable distance from him. “You look…I…You look…” She chewed at the inside of her lip, flattered even more that she’d stunned him into speechlessness.

“Ravishing?” Dorian filled in.

“Gorgeous?” Varric tried.

“Beautiful?” Solas chipped in.

“Lovely?” Iron Bull added.

“Hot!” Sera interjected.

“Shh,” Cole admonished all of them. “You’re not helping!” His airy voice made his irritation and subsequent silent encouragement that much more adorable. The pregnant pause that followed his warning had everyone’s eyes locked on Halise’s awestruck boyfriend.

“Breathtaking,” Cullen sighed, one of the warmest smiles she’d ever seen spreading over his lips. His scar crinkled up, reminding her how much she wanted to kiss those lips. But she couldn’t. Not then. Appearances had to be kept up amidst the roomful of Denerim socialites and foreign dignitaries. Bullshit. All of it.

“Well said, Curly.” Varric clapped Cullen on the back, the sound and sensation of it knocking the lovers back into reality. This wasn’t a fairy tale. Halise’s dress wouldn’t disintegrate into rags at the stroke of midnight, their limos wouldn’t transform into pumpkins, and she wouldn’t have to leave behind a glass slipper for him to find her the next morning—though she might drop the rest of her clothes if the evening continued as well as she hoped.

However, things seldom went as she hoped.

*****

Cullen still couldn’t believe it. His girlfriend, the woman who loved him and whom he loved more than air itself, was, unquestionably, the most beautiful thing in the entire massive hall. She was fire and ice and hardness and softness, and he’d meant it when he told her she was breathtaking. He’d stopped breathing when his eyes caught her coming toward him. She’d stolen the very oxygen from his lungs, and he wanted her to keep it. He only wished he had more to give.

And around her neck was the thing that made her more beautiful than even he could fathom. Not because it sparkled or glittered—in point of fact, it did neither—but because she’d kept it. A gold sovereign with long dead Prime Minister Calenhad’s profile stamped on it hung from a sturdy gold chain, attached with a thick setting she’d had affixed to it not long after he gave it to her. But that was nearly eight years ago. She’d kept it, and she wore it in all her finery that night, uncaring for anyone’s opinion of it but theirs. Maker, but he loved her so much.

His eyes were locked on her even as she ordered a ginger ale, taking the tumbler delicately and sipping from the black straw carefully to avoid mussing her red lipstick. He would take care of that later. Several times, if the night went as planned.

As if the Maker heard his thoughts and laughed, the woman they’d met at Mr. Hawke’s office—Vivienne, if he remembered correctly—sauntered up to them. Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine followed closely behind her, their brows furrowed in obvious concern. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, bringing his hand to the back of his neck to quell the headache that sprang on him the moment he saw the looks on their faces.

“Ms. Lavellan, a word, if I may?” she asked coolly, her silken voice not doing enough to assuage his consternation.

Halise smiled not unkindly, but there was an edge to it. “Yes, Ms. de Fer?”

“As I’ve just told your colleagues, I overheard a very troubling conversation in the wine cellar a few moments ago.”

“This place has a _wine_ cellar?” Halise asked, her tone one of disbelief. Cullen took a shallow breath to stop himself from laughing, a worthwhile ache settling in his chest.

Vivienne looked unfazed. “Yes,” she answered. “Only the service staff and I were supposed to be down there this evening, but when I went down to retrieve a bottle for some of Mayor Theirin’s more generous donors, it seems I stumbled into an assassination plot.”

Halise shut her eyes, shook her head, and blew out a slow breath. “An…assassination plot?” Her eyelids fluttered back open. “Seriously? It’s not against me again, is it? I’ve had just about enough of people trying to kill me lately.”

“No, my dear. No one here has any designs on your life this evening as far as I’ve heard. It appears the intended target is Prime Minister Celene Valmont.” Cullen’s attention was turned from the woman when he heard Dorian nearly choke on his drink. He had a bad habit of drinking while hearing distressing news, apparently.

“So why bring this to us?” Halise asked, gesturing with open hands to the plethora of prosecutors and investigators around them. “We’re from the DA’s office. We’re not cops. Well, except Iron Bull, but this is waaay outside his jurisdiction. So why us? Didn’t you alert the security detail?”

It was a rather obvious question. Cullen wondered the same thing. He’d been patted down on his way in, as had everyone else. The ladies’ bags had been opened and searched. On the whole, the evening had promised to be nonviolent until that very moment.

Vivienne’s chin lifted ever so slightly in a subtle demonstration of her indignance. “I have informed Mayor Theirin’s security detail, but they have other matters to attend to this evening, and without more proof than a few overheard words, they were not inclined to take the threat seriously. As for Prime Minister Valmont’s security, I have concerns that some of them may be involved, given the person I overheard discussing it.”

“And who, pray tell, was that?” Halise was not stowing her agitation. Rather, she was letting it emanate from her like a venomous aura, ready to strike at the first person to misstep into her wrath.

“The Prime Minister’s favorite cousin and secretary, Florienne de Chalons. I heard her on her cellphone talking to someone about ‘Celene’s interference,’ and ‘putting an end to her so someone less apt to notice’ could take over.”

“Great,” Sera muttered. “One night I’m not strapped. Shit suits. Crap.”

Halise closed her eyes with a sigh, tapping at her forehead with the nails on her index and middle fingers in an odd rhythm. “And Prime Minister Mac Tir isn’t here yet?”

“She phoned earlier to let the mayor know that she would be running quite late this evening due to an unforeseen emergency.” Cullen watched Vivienne’s eyes scan their reticent group, noting the briefest flash of hope.

He considered how someone might attempt an assassination in a room full of armed private security if they didn’t want to die themselves. Not with a gun or knife, certainly. That would draw too much attention. A bomb, perhaps? He glanced around the ballroom. There would be a high volume of casualties if that was the case, and if Ms. Valmont’s secretary slash cousin was the perpetrator, it would be unlikely she’d be able to leave the Prime Minister’s side long enough to blow her up. Historically, the majority of female premeditated murderers were poisoners. It would be easy enough to do, especially when she was likely expected to handle much of her cousin’s food and drink for the evening.

Cullen realized that Halise had been staring at him, her head canted at a slight angle, eyes lively, the inside of her plush lip drawn between her teeth. She took a step toward him, the closest they’d been all evening. He tried desperately not to focus on her intoxicating scent or the swell of her breasts under her gown. _Wildly inappropriate,_ he thought, giving his head a much needed shake.

The dark makeup around her eyes made them luminesce when she looked up at him. “You’re thinking poison too, aren’t you?” she murmured.

He tried not to let his shock shine through. She was his match, in every way. “I am.”

“It’s the most logical way,” they said, nearly in unison. Her red lips pressed together in an attempt to hide her smile, but Cullen let his show, ignoring the blood sneaking up his cheeks.

The sole of Halise’s sparkling shoe made a scraping noise against the smooth floor when she pivoted back toward Vivienne. “Okay,” she began. “So we need a motive. Is this a hit or a frame-up for someone else? Or does it have something to do with relations with Ferelden? You said Florienne mentioned Celene interfering in something. Has she been involved in anything big lately, like, I don’t know, being the poster child for some big federal operation in Orlais or something?”

Vivienne’s expression didn’t even shift as she considered Halise’s inquiries. Her gray eyes bore the only signs that she was thinking of the answers. A string quartet that had begun to play only a few moments before sounded through the hall around them, already drawing couples to the dancefloor. Cullen listened for the melody only to be jolted back to reality when the woman finally answered.

“Relations with Ferelden have always been a bit strained, but I can’t see any reason that would be a motive this evening. No one has expressed any desire to break the peace between the two countries recently. As for what Prime Minister Valmont has been involved in of late, the only things that come to mind are her pushback against Elvhen equality—I am sorry for that, incidentally—” Cullen watched Halise’s jaw clench. “—and her national drug enforcement reform proposal that would make the Orlesian borders much harder to cross.”

“Shit,” Halise blurted. “Sorry. Does Florienne have any ties at all with anyone pushing for Elvhen equality?”

“None that I know of. In fact, she’s been very outspoken against it.”

“Fenedhis,” she spat, casting a glance over her shoulder at Cullen before turning back to the aloof woman. “Orlais has been having problems with Tevinter cartels smuggling narcotics through the country from the ports and the northern border, hasn’t it?” A nod from the sly woman drew an impatient sigh out of Halise’s nose. “And let me guess, the Deputy Prime Minister—who is that, by the way?”

“Florienne’s brother, Gaspard de Chalons.”

Halise barked out a humorless laugh. “Of course. Let me guess,” she continued, “he’s much less focused on border security than…oh, say, the foreign war in the Free Marches?” Her hand waved about in a series of flippant gestures.

Cullen watched Vivienne’s face shift for the first time. Understanding or terror widened her eyes. “He is.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. More Tevinter bullshit.” Halise looked over her shoulder—and Cullen’s—right at Dorian. “Eventually, you’re going to have to call your father and remind him to straighten out your fucked up motherland.”

“And you wonder why I left,” the olive-skinned Tevinter replied, his tone sardonic and utterly unamused. Cullen looked on as Iron Bull whispered something into his fiancé’s ear, bringing a tiny smile to his face.

Halise’s shoulders pulled back, flexing under her porcelain skin as she righted her posture with a slow, even breath. “Alright, Ms. de Fer. I think it’s time you introduced me to the Prime Minister.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger!
> 
> Please don't curse my name! ^_^;; Here's Halise's dress! It's part of Galia Lahav's Le Reves Bohemians collection!
> 
>  
> 
>  


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!!!
> 
> Also, I didn't include a song in this chapter, but I highly encourage you to listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OydK91JjFOw) before, during, or after reading. It...uh...had an *impact*.

Something peeled Halise’s eyes open. She wasn’t sure whether it had been a sound or a movement, but she squinted and grimaced into the dull morning light eking into her bedroom. Instead of the anticipated view of her room, though, her tired vision was filled with sun kissed skin and wild golden curls. The warm breath from her nostrils reflected back at her from the nape of Cullen’s neck as he slept. She had no inkling as to when or how his shirt had been removed or when or how she’d become the big spoon, but she was comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that with a small sigh she shut her eyes again, sleep already tugging at her anew.

Four obscenely loud knocks managed to penetrate through her closed bedroom door from the front door of her apartment. Not Sera’s knocks, either. If she’d forgotten her keys she would have just picked the lock. “Goin’ for a tumble,” she called it—ha. But these knocks were insistent. Aggressive, even.

Slowly, Halise lifted her arm off Cullen’s side, already missing the burning heat of the soft skin that stretched tight over hard muscle. She extracted herself gently from her bed, careful as she could be to avoid waking him. She didn’t know what time it was, but he’d had a nasty migraine while they were at the Hanged Man the night before, and she’d have wanted to keep sleeping had she been in his shoes.

Once she managed to roll away and stand, she tiptoed across her room. The light door swung open silently, and closed just as quietly behind her. Three more forceful knocks pounded against the front door. The sound of them made her nervous. Her senses heightened with each step toward the thick piece of wood, grabbing up an envelope from their mail basket on her way. She could feel every fiber of carpet beneath her feet, smell the remnant scent of cookies Sera must have made for her lady friend, see the shifting shadow of a person slip across the light in her peephole.

Halise slid the envelope up in front of the tiny opening. A trick her father had taught her when he was at his most paranoid after being shot. “Someone who wants to hurt you can shoot you right in the eye when they see the light disappear,” he’d said. “Put something up there first if you’re scared.” His manner had been deeply serious when he told her, and she took his advice to heart. Not like anyone wanted to shoot her though. No reason to.

Her eye replaced the envelope soundlessly, peering out to see who the early morning disruptor was. _Fuckhead_. Jim. Fucking Jim. It had been stupid to go out with him, even just once. She should have known better than to go on a date with someone she went to school with _and_ had mixed feelings about. But he’d made her laugh that day, and she was feeling particularly lonely after hearing about the rest of her family’s trip to the Redcliffe Aquarium, so she agreed. Stupid. They’d met for dinner at a mediocre restaurant he raved about, had mediocre conversation, and she let him give her a mediocre kiss. He was lackluster in every way. Completely unremarkable. It wasn’t long after their crap date that she met Cullen.

She nibbled at the inside of her lip, waffling about whether to open the door. Jim had asked her out several times since then, but she’d managed to make noncommittal excuses every time. He only knew where she lived because she hosted their group for a project for their criminal justice ethics class the previous semester. She decided that she’d better talk to him, at the very least to stop him from knocking anymore. Cullen needed to sleep, after all.

With a sigh, Halise turned the deadbolt and cracked open the door just enough to poke her head out—she was still just wearing her light nightshirt and no bra. Hot air glided in as Jim smiled at her, looking almost relieved. “Halise!”

“Jim,” she greeted him with a nod. “What are you doing here?”

He fidgeted with his reply, rocking back and forth on his toes and wringing his hands. “Well, I thought, you know, since you’ve been so busy lately and it’s the weekend, I thought I’d come over and see if you wanted to get breakfast with me at the farmer’s market. We had a nice time last time and I thought…Well, you know.”

 _Ugh_. “Jim, it’s—it’s really early. You shouldn’t bang on people’s doors like that first thing in the morning. Uncool, dude.”

Jim picked at his fingernails. The sound and sight of it turned her stomach, bringing a disgusted frown to her face. “Sorry about that. But—Well, you’re up now, so do you want to go with me?”

Letting him down easy was no longer an option. His persistence was grating rather than endearing. As her mind turned over ways to shut him down, Halise felt the door move opposite the way she gripped it, swinging open with force she wasn’t exerting. Panic at the likelihood of her sudden vulnerability hadn’t had the chance to set in yet when a large, strong hand slipped across her chest, wreathing an arm around her protectively. Cullen’s firm chest and stomach pressed at her back as he pushed the door wide open.

The too-average man on the other side of the threshold startled, leaning back a bit in response to the sight of the barely clothed warrior at Halise’s back. A strange thrill rolled through her body at their exposure—her nightshirt barely skimming her thighs, its fabric just thin enough to reveal the detailed textures of her breasts. Jim’s eyes raked over the scene before him, his mouth hanging open barbarically. He cleared his throat, his nerves making themselves plain in the thick swallow accompanying the sound. “H-Hello,” he stuttered.

“Hello,” Cullen replied, the husky rasp of sleep lowering his voice by an octave or two. Or was it something else? “Is something the matter?”

Bringing her hand up first to cover the smile she couldn’t hold back, then to stroke fine blonde hairs on Cullen’s arm, Halise decided simply to be honest, however it ended. “Jim stopped by to see if I wanted to go with him to the farmer’s market for breakfast. He thought we had a nice time on our date last Kingsway, even though I’ve said no to his past six—wait, no, seven—offers for a second date.” Couldn’t forget the time he’d called her in the middle of the night to ask her out for a cup of coffee. “But I guess he thought he’d give it one more shot.”

She didn’t need to see Cullen’s face to know what it looked like. Jim’s expression told her everything. His normally pinkish skin had gone completely pale, his stare sidelong as his dim blue eyes flicked back and forth between Cullen and the staircase. His posture shrank, too, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Cullen curled over her a bit, stubbled chin resting atop the blade of her ear. “I don’t think that was very wise. After all, you have been rebuffing his…advances for months now,” he rumbled. “And I’m sure he can see now that you are otherwise _occupied_. Perhaps we should go back inside and allow him to reconsider his choices on his way elsewhere?” His body shifted behind her, and she twisted her neck to look at him.

Dark, blown pupils overcame his honeyed eyes, boring into her and sending wave after wave of heat to her core. Unable to tear herself from his scorching gaze, Halise murmured a quiet, “Yes, perhaps that would be best,” her voice hypnotized. Her knees were weak as the hand resting on her shoulder crept up to her neck, rough thumb skimming across her throat before the rest of his digits spread up her sensitive skin.

Without another glance or word to Jim, Cullen slammed the door in the dumbstruck man’s face. The instant it was closed, lips surged together, parting uninhibited to allow tongues to mingle and weave. Cullen’s grip on Halise’s curved throat tightened when she ran her tongue up the scar on his lip, making her every inhale coarse—palpable as they rushed past his hold on her. A gravely moan rose from his chest when he reclaimed her mouth, wresting a whimpering sigh from her as his other hand grabbed her hip, pulling her flush against him.

He was already so hard, and she wanted him. She wanted him to claim her, to mark her as his. Her want pulsed through her, her body curving to fit against his, her knees bending and trembling, her cunt already wet in anticipation of her capture. _Take me,_ she willed. _Take everything._

Cullen’s body heard her siren song. The hand on Halise’s hip moved to press low on her stomach, just over her womb, bringing her nightshirt up with his grasp. His head pulled away, lips leaving her sore and panting. Air still scraped through her windpipe past his fingers as his hips rolled, grinding his cock against her, his other hand pushing her into him. The impetus of his movements pitched her torso forward, and her hands flew up, bracing with a _thud_ against the door he’d only just slammed shut. Wet lips released hot breath and a hedonistic groan against her ear as he rutted into her once more. Her fingers and elbows quivered at the sound.

Halise nearly sobbed when his hand left her throat. But she didn’t have time to protest. His left palm skated up her stomach, his right taking its place. Fingertips brushed across pert nipples, drawing out a shaky sigh. He toyed with the waistband of her panties for the barest moment before plunging in. When he found her sex, wet and wanting, his middle finger sunk into her, exploring her depths, plundering a ragged mewl from her unimpeded throat. Both her legs shook as her back arched, pressing—rocking against his cock.

His slick digit withdrew only to find the sensitive bundle of nerves he must have known would make her his. Slow circles sent pleasure thrumming through her body, dropping her head back against Cullen’s shoulder and drawing her left hand up and into his hair. His silken, unkempt curls were reminders of his contradictions. Soft but firm. Dominant but deferential. Rough but so considerate.

Tongue and teeth travelled over her neck and ear, nipping and soothing, tugging and dragging. Cullen’s fingers stroked and squeezed her pearled nipples slowly, a stark contrast to the quickening pace with which he massaged her clit. She rolled her hips against him, the S-curve he’d made of her body chasing every sensation. Her chest expanded and contracted almost violently with the mewls and panting breaths sawing in and out of her as she ascended the steps of her mounting pleasure, only a gentle push away from the precipice.

Cullen’s morning stubble grazed the tip of her ear, his lips releasing a sigh that sent a shiver down her spine and a jolt to her core. Halise was teetering at the brink, a flush rushing up her cheeks that foretold her undoing. She managed to hold in a breath, pleading with her body to let her go—to let her fall.

All it took was growled order—a command. Just three words. “Come for me.”

Compelled to obey, Halise came apart in his arms. Her entire body shook, any semblance of self-control lost with the unrestrained and broken cries tearing out of her. Fire and electricity reverberated through her over and over, rending the strength from her racked body. Cullen’s deft fingers worked her until her utter end. Her wobbling knees refused to endure the strain of her pleasure any longer, giving way beneath her. But he caught her in his powerful arms, holding her to him as the final waves of her orgasm fluttered and dissipated.

She was entirely his.

Once she could stand on her own, Cullen walked them forward, bidding her to lean against the door. She did as instructed, missing his touch down to her soul when he stepped back. Her longing was soon sated, though. A surprisingly gentle tug on her waist turned her to face him.

Halise’s eyes wandered over him, her savage, sweet man. His underwear had been shed, laying Mythal-knew-where, his cock at ready attention—red and full, a sheen to the head. The rest of him was hard planes and soft, scarred skin, every lean muscle live and ready. His body was predatorial, but his warm amber eyes betrayed something else entirely. They looked upon her tenderly, almost benevolent in their gaze.

Still, his movements marked his desire, firm and unhesitant. He approached her again, their lips meeting passionately once more. She felt him lifting her nightshirt, and they parted just long enough for him to slip it off of her and onto the floor. The cool wood of the door soothed her lust-scorched back through her curls, even as nimble fingers dragged her panties down enough for her to kick herself free.

The tension of Cullen’s tenuous self-control was emphasized by the apparent struggle of his unoccupied hands to pace themselves as his lips devoured her. Those masculine hands glided over Halise’s body, up her hips to her waist, passing across her breasts before travelling down her arms. He laced their fingers together, sliding her hands up above her head. Instead of holding her there, however, he released her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She only just had the chance to register his touch on the backs of her thighs before he lifted her up, eliciting a surprised squeak that he swallowed up voraciously. Her legs ensnared his waist, hauling him as close to her as she could.

The dusting of blonde hair on his chest tantalized her, ghosting across her still oversensitive nipples until he pressed himself against her entirely. His right arm slipped under her knee, followed by his left. With the full force of his formidable body, he pinned her to the door, opening her to him fully. She was helpless. At his mercy. Again she willed him to use his power to take her—to claim her.

They groaned into each other’s mouths as Cullen sheathed himself within her. He moved slowly at first, every inch of him filling her—tapping at her cervix when he hilted himself entirely. But what started as slow, measured strokes soon became rugged, unbridled thrusts. He moaned and she whimpered as they rose and fell with one another, clawing their way toward ecstasy. Halise’s fingers gripped his hair, scratched his back, and caressed his lips. His lust-dark eyes took her in, her parted lips and love-drunk gaze drawing most of his attention. She let her eyes close and her head drop forward onto his shoulder as she felt the crest of her second orgasm approaching. The raw sensation, unburdened by sight and perhaps heightened by its absence, sent her tumbling over the edge. Her toes curled in the air, and she keened into the scant space between their bodies, her cries punctuated by his increasingly erratic thrusts. Not long after, she felt the pulse of his climax deep inside her. He came with a roaring growl, his mouth so close to her ear and chest pressed so close to hers that she felt the vibration through her whole body. He plunged deep into her, a final moan pouring from his lips.

They hung in suspended animation for a few moments. Their bodies gradually stilled, heaving breaths slowing, muscles relaxing, sweat evaporating. Halise let her fingernails drag up and down the back of Cullen’s scalp, smiling as he closed his eyes and sighed, blissful at her affections.

Taking great care not to drop her, he extricated himself from her, setting her down one foot at a time. His movements grew delicate as he cupped her jaw, leaning down to kiss her. This kiss diametrically opposed those that came before, soft and saccharin rather than lustful and rough. Upon their parting, he smiled down at her, his expression suddenly brimming with devotion and awe. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice so different from that of the man who had chastised the imbecile on the other side of the door.

Halise beamed back at him. “I love you, too.” His smile widened.

It took several minutes before Cullen was willing to let Halise go. She scooped her nightshirt off the floor and grabbed her panties up with her toes while he retrieved his discarded underwear. “I think he already knew,” she mused, throwing her shirt over her head.

“Knew what?” Her eyes swept an appreciative final glance at his sculpted ass as he tugged his boxerbriefs over it. Shame.

“I think he already knew I was yours. You didn’t have to lick me in front of him to claim me like a box of crayons,” she giggled.

Cullen spun to face her, a look of horror on his face. “I-I did not _lick_ you in front of him!” His eyes darted about. “Did I?” He rubbed at the back of his neck while he stared at some fixed point between the floor and the wall, reaching back into his mind to figure out if he had.

Halise doubled over in laughter, resting her hands on her bare thighs. Her eyes stung with the tears that bubbled up with her chortling. She even snorted once. When she was finally able to regain her composure, she righted herself, wiping under both her eyes with her index fingers. Cullen had mastered the bashful-annoyed-lovestruck glare, standing with his arms crossed while she tried to assuage his concerns. “No, you didn’t actually lick me in front of him. I meant figuratively. Don’t get me wrong, I liked it. A lot, in fact. I was just saying that I’m pretty sure he could have figured it out even if you’d just called my name from the bedroom.”

“I—Well—I suppose I could have done that.” Bashfulness won out, casting his eyes up and around in any direction she wasn’t.

She closed the distance between them, standing on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay to be a little jealous. And greedy. And possessive.” A smile curled her lips, mirroring the one curling his. As she walked past him toward her bedroom, she called over her shoulder, “Just don’t let it get out of hand.”

After they’d showered and dressed for the day, they stayed on Halise’s bed for a little while, talking about their plans to go to the shooting range. She’d been dying to show Cullen what she could do since they’d met, and had practically begged him to bring his gun with him to Denerim. He’d chuckled and agreed, though he seemed doubtful of her capabilities for some reason.

They were in the middle of talking about the price of ammunition when Cullen’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “I’d almost forgotten,” he said, holding out a finger before he rolled off the edge of her bed to rifle through his things.

Halise watched, confused and amused, as he dug around in his duffle bag. Mutters and grumbles issued from his unseen lips, his back turned toward her while he pulled out every meticulously folded article of clothing, his Kevlar gun bag, and his little freezer baggie full of toiletries. His brow was furrowed when he turned sideways, his striking profile drawing a quiet sigh through her nose. He splayed his fingers out inside the bag and turned it upside down. Gruff grunts emanated from him as he shook the bag until something small and golden fell out and onto her floor with a tiny _thunk_.

The agitation on Cullen’s face melted into excitement when he snatched up the object. She eyed him suspiciously as he sat back on the bed. A noisy inhale and heavy exhale lifted his chest and shoulders. “I wanted you to have this.” He took her hand and pressed warm, round metal into her palm.

She held out her hand to examine the thing. An old golden sovereign with an image of the Ferelden Prime Minister from a hundred years ago sat against her alabaster skin. The coin was worn in places, as many old coins were, and had teeny scratches over its surface. A small chunk was missing from the edge, like an itty bitty creature had taken a bite out of it. She looked back up at him, hope written all over his face as she was certain confusion was over hers.

“It’s a coin,” he said, shaking his head immediately. “You know it’s a coin. I’m sorry. Branson gave that to me for luck the day I left for basic training. I think he just had it in his pocket, but I kept it with me all the same. It’s seen…a lot, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at it. I want you to have it.”

Halise couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat as her eyes flicked back and forth between Cullen and the coin. This man, who loved her so much he was willing to give her his most cherished keepsake. “Cullen, I—” The lump didn’t want her speaking either.

An impossibly sweet smile tugged at his lips and the corners of his eyes. He closed her fingers around the sovereign, holding her hand in his while tears slipped silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away with his other thumb and cupped her jaw. “Truly, Halise. I love you, and I want you to have this.”

A hard sniffle and a few harried blinks later, she managed a reply. “I love you too, Cullen.” Her gaze fluttered back down to her hand, closed tight in his, and a strange thought brought a watery laugh up in her throat. “Is this like you giving me your pin or your letterman jacket? Are we going steady now?”

He let out a low chuckle, stroking another errant tear away. “I certainly hope so.”

“Me too.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaaaahhhhh fluff and smut and possessive Cullen! *le sigh*
> 
> The song I encouraged you to listen to is FKA Twigs's "Papi Pacify," which you can still listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OydK91JjFOw). Admittedly, I listen to a lot of FKA Twigs (and Alina Baraz & Galimatias) when I write the smutty stuff. Nothing like a good ol' sex song to set the scene. ^_~
> 
> And don't worry, we'll be right back at the gala next chapter. ^_^
> 
> Incidentally, if you want to know what happens when Halise and Cullen go shooting, you can check that out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8852455/chapters/20300779).


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back!!! I wanted to take a minute to thank you all for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I've never taken so long to post and I was getting all twitchy about it. But bar prep had to take priority, so here we are. That being said, this is a looooong chapter, even by my standards. So thank you again!
> 
> I also refer to a couple of songs in this chapter, which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8xeStLTnhM) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9NM-yK1C2I).

Cullen trailed not far behind Halise as Vivienne walked them toward Prime Minister Valmont. Sera and Leliana flanked him, their manners so astoundingly different he wondered at how it was they came to have the same job. In passing, he realized it was simply because they were both quite good at it. Leliana, whose posture and stride were as graceful and dangerous as a thundercloud, had a longstanding network of informants and contractors, all shrouded in mystery. Sera, whose shoulders slumped just enough to remind everyone she didn’t care about their fancy party, related to the people, using her own life experience to communicate with those ranging from mothers to gangsters, from mechanics to hackers.

Halise, on the other hand, moved like a breeze in the springtime. Even under her voluminous dress, he could see her hips sway with every tap of her shoes on the polished floor. Her hair swished across her exposed back opposite the swing of her hips, her body a metronome keeping time for his heartbeat. How anyone could want to kill her was absolutely beyond his comprehension.

The plan was for Cullen to stay near Halise—something he had no qualms with—and pick up information from the space around her. He could also step in if anyone decided they wanted to hurt her, a position for which he was unspeakably grateful. Leliana and Sera were meant to hover nearby, but in a much more ambient way, listening for anything useful from the people just out of earshot of whoever Halise was talking to. Everyone else fanned out around the room, taking attention off the Inquisition staff and bringing back whatever intel they managed to gather from the crowd.

Leliana and Sera broke away from Cullen just as Halise reached a trio of Orlesians, separated from the rest of the crowd by their air and fashion. The only man, tall and stocky and in his sixties, wore a classic tuxedo, cut in the Orlesian style. One of the women had close-cropped blonde hair styled in a wave atop her head and wore a slim black dress with beige sleeves and accents. The other woman—the Prime Minister if he had to guess—wore a meticulously tailored midnight blue cowl-neck gown, her blonde-gray hair twisted away from her face in a complicated knot. Her aloof expression reminded him of Vivienne’s, though Ms. Valmont’s eyes—such a light shade of blue they were almost white—were at once sharp and dull. She could only be bothered to pay attention to fragments of the goings on around her. A good way to get oneself killed, in Cullen’s opinion.

Vivienne’s smooth voice drew the Orlesians’ attention to her and Halise. “Prime Minister Valmont, may I present Halise Lavellan from the Denerim Branch of the Ferelden District Attorney’s office.” Cullen watched the back of Halise’s head as she gently nodded. Ms. Valmont returned the gesture in kind, raising her hand limply for Halise to grasp. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was clenching her jaw. She hated dead fish handshakes.

“Ah,” the Prime Minister sighed in recognition. “My people tell me they call your office ‘the Inquisition,’ yes?”

“They do, Madame Prime Minister.” Halise’s voice was even, giving only the barest amount of reverence she thought acceptable. This was not her Prime Minister, after all.

“Mm. They also tell me Mayor Theirin has become very…appreciative of your work in service to this city.” Cullen did not like her tone. “We are lucky to be in the presence of someone so diligent.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Celene gestured with an open hand to the irritated looking man beside her. “This is my cousin and Deputy Prime Minister, Gaspard de Chalons.” Then to the woman on her other side. “And this is his sister, my assistant, Florienne de Chalons.”

“It is very nice to meet you all,” Halise replied with another little nod.

The Deputy Prime Minister took up her hand in his, leaning down to brush his lips across her knuckles. How very Orlesian of him. “It is an honor, Ms. Lavellan.”

“The honor is mine, Deputy Prime Minister.”

Cullen’s gaze was trained on Florienne, watching, waiting for the slightest sign of her treachery. But he saw nothing, not even as she outstretched her hand to give Halise another limp handshake. “What a pleasure to be in such venerable company,” the woman cooed.

“You flatter me, Ms. de Chalons. Though I do hope your company won’t be too short-lived, Madame Prime Minister.” Cullen bit back a smile at Halise’s clever warning. He would have to remember to praise her when the night was over.

At those words, Florienne’s façade cracked ever so slightly. Her eyebrow twitched up for a split second while the Prime Minister seemed to cast a wary glance at Halise. “I suppose that will be up to those around me, but I shall endeavor to stay as long as I can.” Had she caught the hint? Did she understand that someone was trying to kill her?

“On that note, I suppose I should take my leave and allow you to mingle with everyone else.” He could hear the soft smile in Halise’s voice as she nodded again and turned to leave.

But Florienne called her back. “Ms. Lavellan, would you do me the honor of accompanying me onto the dance floor? I would ask my brother, but he has a tendency to step on my toes. And I simply abhor the idea of ruining these lovely shoes.”

The fiery tendrils of Halise’s hair flipped over her shoulder when she turned back to face the woman. “I—I’d be delighted, Ms. de Chalons.”

 _No, no, no, no,_ Cullen’s mind screamed. He couldn’t let her go onto the dance floor alone with this conniving woman—this murderess in the making. He took a single step forward, prepared to stop her. Her eyes stopped him in his impulsive tracks. They told him to trust her, that she knew what she was doing, that the woman was a poisoner, that she wouldn’t risk hurting her in the middle of the dance floor.

So he stopped, and watched his love walk toward the rapidly crowding dance floor with an aspiring killer. Halise brushed her fingers across Vivienne’s arm as she passed, handing her golden purse to her and turning the unreadable woman’s gaze toward him. She flicked her eyes from him to Halise’s back, reminding him to follow her. Only vaguely remembering to sip his as yet untouched tumbler of scotch as he walked, he followed them—far enough behind that he wouldn’t be noticed, but just close enough to hear Florianne very intentionally dithering as to her opinion on the décor and the weather. Pointlessness with a purpose.

Cullen followed as far as he could, but when the two women crossed onto the dancefloor it was as if the demarcation on the floor had built up an imperceptible yet impenetrable wall. His slick-soled shoes slipped beneath him as he ground to a halt. There was no way in the Void he’d be stepping past that wall alone. Awkward conspicuousness was not the way to suss Florienne’s plan. He would have to trust Halise’s instincts, a thought that calmed and worried him in the same breath.

It didn’t help that the crowd in the hall had multiplied since his arrival. Finely dressed people packed the space, pushing the chill of adrenaline through his gut. There was danger in that room. He bore the benefit and the burden of that knowledge alongside so few others that it made everyone around him seem lethal. Instinct fought against judgment, memory against sight and sound, prickling at the back of his neck and making his fingers twitch. He could feel himself slipping into panic, even as the string quartet struck up a rather unique version of AC-DC’s “Thunderstruck.” Halise and Florienne began their dance as his breathing began to quicken. His heart raced as their feet brushed across the polished floor in deft steps, their lips and eyes moving markers of some illicit conversation.

The gentle touch of a diminutive hand on the small of his back startled him so badly he almost struck the face of the person it was attached to. Wide brown eyes stared back at him, surrounded by pin straight brunette hair and a warm smile. “Felicity!”

The few weeks that had passed since their parting seemed like a lifetime ago. Even her name seemed foreign as it rolled off his tongue. It was only when Cullen saw the twinge of melancholy in her smile that he realized how short a time it had truly been.

“Hi, Cullen,” she said, doing her damndest to put on a brave face. She looked lovely, despite the sadness tugging at the corners of her eyes. She wore a burgundy dress with meticulous, shimmery silver beading over the torso and a soft skirt. Tiny cutouts at her waist betrayed the open back of the gown—something he might have delighted at in a former life.

“I’ve been trying to decide whether I wanted to come say, ‘hi,’ since I saw you come in with your friends from the office,” she continued, possibly in light of his stunned silence. “I decided it would be better to do it that way than you seeing me and thinking I’m avoiding you. I’m—I’m not avoiding you.” Her body deflated with a sigh. “Aaaand I’m standing here to prove that. Talking. Making an ass of myself. Please start talking so I can shut up because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

Cullen had never really experienced running into an ex-girlfriend before Halise barreled her way back into his life. That had been a much different experience than this. Perhaps because no one’s life was in imminent danger? Or maybe because he had known her for so much longer? No. No, he understood why it had been so different then. He wasn’t in love when Halise had come back. At least…he had not yet figured out that he had been all along.

But in that moment, standing there looking down at Felicity’s still-dejected face, he felt little beyond shock and an awkward sort of tension. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I hadn’t considered that you might be here. Not that you shouldn’t be, but I just wasn’t…expecting you?” He felt his hand doing what it did best, rubbing at the back of his neck in spite of his surroundings.

Felicity’s smile widened, a touch more genuine. “I know. I wouldn’t have expected me at a diplomatic gala either, but I represent a few of the corporate big wigs here in their tax matters. One of the CEOs, Mr. de Chevin, keeps trying to set me up with his son, Michel.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder and Cullen’s eyes followed hers, coming to rest on a reasonably handsome but obviously Orlesian blonde man. He was talking to a few older men, but raised his glass to her when his gaze wandered over. Cullen looked back at her, almost missing the little smirk she gave to this Michel. Good.

“He likes to joke that I’ll have to give his company free counsel if I marry his son.” She sounded amused enough about it herself. A little sigh left her nose as she settled herself and looked out onto the dancefloor. “How about you and Halise? Did you ask her?”

Cullen cleared his throat. This was…an uncomfortable topic to discuss with a former girlfriend. With that much he’d had experience. “I—Um—I did.”

Felicity eyed him expectantly. “And?”

“You were right.” He watched Halise dancing with Florienne, noting her firm stare and hard set jaw as the latter spoke. Something wasn’t right.

A sardonic laugh puffed out of Felicity. “Little victories,” she mused under her breath.

Before Cullen could excuse himself, the music wound into its conclusion with a flourish. Some of the couples on the dancefloor stayed close, waiting for the next song to start. Others, like Florienne and Halise, nodded to one another and parted ways. Halise’s eyes darted about for a moment as she searched for Cullen, a small kind of relief dropping her shoulders and elongating her neck when she spotted him. She watched him, unblinking and laser focused as she walked over.

He felt the air move around him when she reached him—ever the spring breeze, even when her green eyes reminded him she was a tempest. “Cullen,” she murmured breathlessly, “this is bad. She said sh—Felicity!”

“Hi, Halise.” Felicity gave a somewhat terse smile and flicker of her fingers.

“I—Uh—How are you?” Halise’s posture had gone stiff, her shoulders pushed back in a way that looked almost painful. Her dancer’s posture. Trained into her like combat was trained into him.

“I’m fine. I’m glad to see you’re doing alright after that nasty business a few weeks ago.”

“Ah. Yeah, turns out getting stabbed in the hand isn’t as bad as things can get.” Halise smiled and shrugged, still tense.

Felicity hummed her acknowledgment. “I can only imagine.” A pregnant pause filled the air until she spoke again. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. It sounds like you have something to talk about. It was—uh—good to see you both again. Have a nice evening.”

Without another word, she dropped her head, turned on her heel, and walked away. Cullen watched Halise’s eyes follow the brunette, confusion and possibly a little hurt furrowing her brow. She probably didn’t realize she was chewing on the inside of her lip. His curiosity about where Felicity had wandered off to was nothing compared to his desire to watch Halise’s plush lips. Vibrant red lipstick accentuated their softness and the little curve of the lower one as she worried the flesh on the inside of her mouth—the hot, wet, perfect inside of her mouth. His hands balled into fists at his sides to stop him from tasting her in front of everybody. When her eyes turned back to meet his, he swallowed thickly, praying that the muscles in his throat would push down his lust. Stave it off for a few more hours.

“That was weird,” she said. “Anyway, Florienne got my hint to Celene a little louder and clearer than I’d hoped. She told me I was too late. She said that ‘it’ was already out there. I’m assuming the ‘it’ is the poison. When I asked her why, she told me to look at my case files for the answer.”

“Corypheus,” Cullen spat. How was it that everything wrong in their lives came back to him? Influence on the streets, in Tevinter, in the FBI, and now the Orlesian government? Was he really so important?

Halise nodded. “Coryphy-fuck. Vivienne still has my purse and my phone. You need to text everyone and tell them to watch the servers. Look for the signs of red lyrium use. Anyone with bloodshot eyes or sores needs whatever is in their hand ‘accidentally’ knocked out of it. We’re about to be the clumsiest group of attorneys Ferelden’s ever seen.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that crept up his lips while he pulled his phone from his pocket and set up the mass text. Halise moved to his side to watch him key in the message. He gave the briefest version of the story he could, and only sent it once he had her nod of approval. A few little dings, quacks, and crickets sounded off softly amid the din of the crowd, almost comforting in their mundaneness.

Two amplified _bumps_ reverberated through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention to the person at the microphone stand near the string quartet. Mayor Theirin scanned the room, a charismatic grin planted on his face as everyone turned toward him. Cullen only knew the man by reputation and what he’d heard from his colleagues. Eternally bathed in scandal as he was, he did seem like he knew what was best for Denerim. He had, after all, been hounding the DA about the gang problem plaguing the city, which led to the creation of Cullen, Halise, and Sera’s taskforce. The one that brought Halise back to him. _Perhaps I should send him a fruit basket for that,_ Cullen considered, however briefly.

Several event workers wheeled a massive black grand piano in, and the Mayor, satisfied he had everyone’s attention, began to speak. “Hello and good evening citizens and friends of Denerim!” His arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture while he paused for applause. Cullen clapped with no particular enthusiasm.

“Thank you all for joining me here this evening. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves thus far. Incidentally, if you didn’t get the chance to try the hors d’oeuvres prepared by Denerim’s own Orlesian-Ferelden bistro, The Blooming Rose, don’t worry. They’re furiously preparing dinner in the kitchen as we speak. In fact, I’m fairly certain if we’re all quiet enough we can hear Chef Lusine terrorizing her sous chefs.” A gentle wave of laughter rolled through the room.

“But,” he continued, “I have no intention of allowing things to get quite that quiet. In honor of our esteemed guests Prime Minister Valmont and Prime Minister Mac Tyr, who I’m told should be arriving shortly, we’ve arranged for some special entertainment for the evening. Hence this rather conspicuous piano.” Another hum of soft laughter.

“Our musical guest tonight is the child of an Orlesian mother and a Ferelden father.” He really was laying that theme on rather thick. “She’s won three Crystal Grace awards for classical music, and she’s seen fit to _grace_ us with her presence tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Maryden Halewell!”

“Ooh ooh ooooooh! I love her music!” Halise exclaimed before joining the rest of the crowd in applause. She clapped and grinned wildly, giving in to the excitement bubbling through her with two little hops.

Cullen smiled as he watched her. Exhilaration and ebullience replaced her anxiety in a flash, all of her trepidation over the evening and Corypheus melting away. She was a glorious thing to behold. All brilliance and joy.

He almost didn’t see Mayor Theirin stride over to them as the applause died down. The same personable smile still rested on his face. But his eyes no longer scanned the room. Instead, they were locked on Halise. He watched her glee with the same attentiveness Cullen had, his teeth more visible with every purposeful step toward her.

Cullen’s blood was up. Surely, he must have been imagining things. Why would the Mayor target a gang prosecutor as the object of his next scandal? Why wouldn’t he choose someone more high profile? But they were at his gala at _his_ invitation. She had been whisked away for his photo op before she’d even been allowed to exit her limousine. Maker’s breath, he _was_ after her! _No more fruit basket._

“Halise,” he said, drawing her eyes to him as he held out his hand, “would you do me the honor of joining me for this dance?”

She looked bewildered for a moment, lips parted, eyes darting back and forth between the Mayor and Cullen. “Um.” She paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Okay.”

_What?!_

*****

Halise let Alistair take her hand for the second time that night and lead her onto the dancefloor. She wasn’t exactly in any position to refuse him. They were at a very public event, he was a very public figure, and he was very in touch with her boss. She had little doubt he knew all that, and she’d have admired his tactics had he not used them to get her into one more compromising position. Mythal’s mercy, what the tabloids were going to say for the next week.

Having reached the center of the floor, the Mayor pulled her in close. His right hand came to rest on her waist while Maryden played the first long notes of one of Halise’s favorite songs in her catalogue. The distance he left between their bodies wasn’t exactly respectable. “Thank you for agreeing to dance with me.”

Her eyebrow arched against her better judgment. “You’re welcome? You knew I couldn’t refuse, though. Not if I have a brain in my head and like my job.”

His grin turned a bit smug. “Oh come now, do I seem vindictive to you?” Halise cocked her head with a squint. “Come on. This job has so few perks. Just let me have this little win.”

A short chuckle rose in her throat as a violinist joined in the tune, setting the pace for their dance to begin. Alistair led confidently, his experience evidencing itself in his unflinching gaze. Watching one’s partner instead of the floor was a sign of a dancer who knew what he was doing. He’d probably had sufficient occasion to learn given the volume of formal affairs he hosted and attended every year.

“I’m sure there are plenty of perks. At least that’s what the gossip rags say.”

He smirked and spun her away from him. When he tugged her back she heard a tray clatter to the ground, dropping glass and cutlery to the floor. Maybe someone had found their poison delivery person.

“They call them ‘rags’ for a reason, Halise.”

“Oh? To hear them tell it you’ve bedded every celebrity in Denerim,” she said with a smirk of her own. She wanted to venture further—to know more. If he was going to put her in the same position as all those women, she figured she might as well ask him for the truth while she could. “So? Have you?”

“Have I what? Have I…ever licked a lamppost in winter?” He over enunciated each word, drawing laughter from both of them until she gave him a benignly baleful look.

“You know what I mean.” Their bodies turned seamlessly with the music. Halise took his momentary pause to revel in the tune. She’d dreamt of dancing to several of Maryden’s songs, and this one was near the top of the list.

Alistair’s expression shifted, sincerity and something like sadness creeping into the corners of his eyes. “No, I haven’t. Not one. Truth be told, until recently, it hasn’t even been something I’ve thought about. Not since Zoe.”

Zoe Amell. His FBI fiancé. The media lauded her as a hero after she stopped a small terrorist cell calling themselves “The Blight” from vaporizing half of the east wing of the Denerim Mall. The story circulated for weeks, telling how she and only a couple other Wardens gunned down a dozen men before getting to the one with the bomb strapped to himself. Warden Amell threw herself at the bomber, hurling them over the glass rails of the third story to the ground below and killing them both.

“I’m sorry,” Halise murmured. “I hadn’t meant to dredge up painful memories. I was just curious.”

The carefree façade slipped back up his face. A mask he wore to hide his pain away. “Well, Halise, so am I. Now I get to ask a question. Are you married?”

“What?”

“Are you married, Halise?” He was suddenly very serious.

She felt guilty for having asked him such an invasive question the moment she had to answer his. “No, not yet. But I am…already taken.”

“Still single, then?” Alistair’s brows lifted.

“No. Taken.” It was her turn to over enunciate.

The Mayor laughed—“hearty” and “robust” were the words that came to mind to describe the sound. Like soup or cheese. “I’m joking! Maker’s breath, Halise, you should have seen your face!” A hot flush rolled up her cheeks. “I know you’re taken. The dashing gentleman you’ve been sidled up to all evening turned white as a sheet when you agreed to dance with me.”

Halise sighed in spite of the smile working its way up her lips. “Cullen Rutherford. Decorated Templar veteran, magna cum laude at South Reach Law, and my partner on _your_ gang taskforce.” She withdrew her hand from his shoulder to poke him in the chest, emboldened by their shared candor. Another tray _clanged_ to the floor somewhere in the large hall.

“Oh, don’t tell me _I’m_ the reason you two are together. By the Mabari, I just keep shooting myself in the foot!” He rolled his eyes in his exaggerated dismay, twirling her away and back again as the string quartet surged with Maryden’s piano in their final crescendo.

“Don’t blame yourself. I’m inclined to think it was fate that we ended up back together.”

Curiosity widened his eyes. “ _Back_ together? As in, you were together before?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded. “We met in law school and dated for about a year and a half. Long distance.”

“Aaand?” he asked.

“Aaand it ended. Fizzled, really.” This line of inquiry was fast becoming a wet blanket on what had been an enjoyable dance.

“But you’re back together. So whatever it was won’t happen again?”

“Fenedhis, I certainly hope not.” Halise let her eyes do her pleading, begging him not to ask her any more questions. The reasons she and Cullen fell apart and the memories thereof brought her nothing but pain. Indeed, she did pray some nights it wouldn’t happen again, though control over that was lost to her.

The song wound down around them, as did the other couples that had joined them on the floor. Everyone slowed with the final notes of piano, their solitudinous din echoing through the large room in a way that sounded so different from their identical brethren at the beginning of the tune. The introduction and subsequent loss of the full-bodied quartet made the singular tones sound lonely.

Alistair held onto her while the other couples parted. The sadness that had tainted his expression moments before crept back into his eyes as he sighed, his soft smile not doing enough to outweigh it. “And so ends the best part of my evening.”

Halise let the corners of her mouth quirk up. “I’m flattered, but, you know, there are a lot of women here tonight. One or two of them might actually be un-shallow. Maybe even genuinely interested in Alistair instead of the Mayor. So don’t count them out just yet.”

Her words seemed to banish some of his latent sorrow as his grin spread wider. “Still an optimist even after being stabbed and blown up.” He released her waist, stepping back as he held her hand. “Denerim is lucky to have you. Almost as lucky as Mr. Rutherford.” He bowed over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her cheeks flushed hot at the sensation. “I wish you both well. And please try not to get yourself killed. I would hate for him to become a kindred spirit.”

With that, he turned away and left her there. Left her with her heart aching for him. Left her with a new kind of fear she hadn’t considered before. It would devastate Cullen if she died. Sure, it would devastate her case and the community, too, but he would be destroyed. She had to be more careful from then on. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Cullen like Zoe left Alistair, with misery and pain lingering in his every fiber for years. She couldn’t do that to Cullen.

Halise had gotten a bit turned around in her dance, and she had to search for Cullen for a moment before her eyes landed on him again. He stood stark still in the same spot she’d left him. His fists were balled up tight at his sides, his skin white and taught against the bones of his knuckles. His jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes boring into her as she walked back over to him. He looked furious.

Before she could open her mouth, his hand shot out from his side to clamp down on her wrist. His grip was hard. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to pull her along when he pivoted away and started off through the crowd.

“Cullen,” she hissed, desperate not to draw any more attention to them than he already had. He marched on, ignoring her repeated entreaties while he pulled her to some unknown destination.

She heard another tray clang to the floor, closer than the last two. A polite Antivan accent apologized profusely, a few other voices mingling and shuffling in to help somewhere out of Halise’s view. How many red lyrium addicts were working this event?

Cullen still dragged her behind him. The crowd began to thin around them until almost no one was left. They rounded a corner into a short, empty hallway, the only two doors both labeled with unisex bathroom signs. With his forearm, he slammed open the door to their left to reveal a semi-small bathroom with one toilet, one sink, and one paper towel dispenser. He spun around to lock the door behind them, tugging Halise so fast she nearly tripped over her skirt as she rounded his body.

The feeling of the cold ceramic of the black and white tiles on the wall nipping at her skin was the first thing she had time to process. Cullen held her there while his lips and teeth worked at her neck and ear, his hands squeezing her waist and breast through her stiff bodice. He sighed into her ear.

Her body’s primal response sawed breath in and out of her lungs and made her legs quiver. But her mind battered her consciousness to the forefront after a few short moments. “Cu—” He cut her off with a bite to her shoulder that drew out a whimpering mewl. She struggled once more against the instincts that screamed at her to let him take her against that icy ceramic wall, to let her billowing skirt ruck up around her waist, to let her glittery shoes dangle from her toes until ecstasy made them tumble to the floor.

The haze of his scent and his touch and his tongue on the column of her throat fogged her mind too heavily. A brief ray of clarity came when he moved to cover her mouth with his. Lipstick. She couldn’t let her lipstick get everywhere. Vivienne still had her purse with the stuff inside, and if they both left that bathroom with red stains all over their faces, they’d look like the cat that got the canary.

Her fingers stopped his lips from reaching hers, narrowly avoiding disaster. “Cullen,” she breathed, “stop. We can’t do this now. As much as _both_ of us want to.”

The ravenous lust that filled his autumnal eyes drained out like water, replaced by a sudden self-awareness. Her fingertips lingered against his lips as he pulled away, falling only once some space had been put between their bodies.

“I—I’m so sorry. You’re right, this is neither the time nor the place for this. I only—I just felt…” Cullen’s voice trailed off, his eyes dropping to the black and white ceramic floor that merged seamlessly into the wall against which Halise’s back still rested.

“You were jealous,” she filled in. He looked back up to her with an angry sort of sheepishness that knit his brows together and left his gaze uncertain. “It’s alright. I’ve told you before, it’s alright.”

“It is not, ‘alright,’” he said, disdain tinging his tone. “It was inappropriate. It could have cost Celene her life.” He shook his head, rueful about his own feelings.

“Pfft, no it couldn’t have. You’ve heard as many trays hit the floor as I have, I’m sure. Our friends have that covered.” Halise let her hand rest against his jaw. “Besides, you have nothing to be jealous about. The Mayor knew you and I are together. He asked about you.”

Cullen’s answering expression became more angry than bashful. “He _knew_? And he still asked you to dance? What a fop—inviting scandal by asking a beautiful woman to dance with him despite knowing she is taken.”

A short laugh puffed out of Halise’s nose. “You sound like Sera.” He glared at her. “He’s not a fop. I’ve apparently become a little bit famous myself. He asked me to dance because it was prerequisite. I’d bet he’s dancing with someone else right now. Plus, we mostly talked about Warden Zoe Amell.”

“His fiancé? The one that died stopping The Blight?” Hope spread across his features.

“Yeah. He’s had a hard time moving on. He asked me…” She stopped, unsure whether she would worry Cullen further by repeating what Alistair said. With a sigh, she forged on. “He asked me not to get myself killed because he’d hate for you to be a kindred spirit.”

Cullen stood up straighter—stiffer. Thoughtfulness and concern settled on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door. It was authoritative, but the hand that knocked was small from the sound of it. Halise and Cullen both looked toward the noise.

“Ey! Zip it up and fix your panties! We found the prat!” Sera’s shrill voice penetrated through the thick wood.

Halise ran to the door, tugging it fruitlessly before moving to unlock it and trying again. “You got him? Where is he?” Her head darted around in the empty hallway.

Sera tilted her head to look past Halise into the bathroom. “Pfft. You two button up fast.” Halise glowered down at the blonde elf. “Alright, alright. Bull’s got him in the kitchen. Arse dropped a glass. ‘Bout melted the floor. Your friend, the Mayor, saw it. Got his frigging goons with him in the kitchen, too.”

Without another thought, Halise grabbed a handful of her skirt and bolted out the door. She ran around the edge of the crowd, looking back twice to ensure Cullen and Sera were still with her. Propriety be damned. She was putting someone in jail.

She burst through the swinging kitchen door behind a waiter with an empty tray. Catching sight of Bull’s horns from the doorway, she passed through the room, barely missing some of the sous chefs and waiters still buzzing away with the food. Iron Bull, Alistair, and four of his security personnel stood around one little man with greasy hair, red eyes, and a sleeve that had been forced up his arm to reveal a swarm of red sores.

“You’ve read this guy his rights, Bull? I need to ask him some questions and I want this admissible.”

“I did, Boss.” She could always tell when he was winking at her, even with just one eye.

“You understood your rights?” she asked the junkie. He nodded. “Good. Listen, I’ll cut you a deal if you tell me what happened.”

He sneered. “Prez said to come here in a uniform and listen to the gal with the wavy hair.” From the way he spoke, she could tell he was a Red Templar. He gestured with the arm Bull wasn’t holding, making a swirling motion over his head.

“Florienne?”

“Yeah, her. She handed me a cup, said to wait. So I waited. Then she snapped her fingers at me—at _me_ —and told me to bring out the special champagne she set aside. Said it plain as day. So I came back here, grabbed the cup, and took it out. Then some dwarf with a ponytail knocked the tray out of my hand and the shite sizzled on the floor. I didn’t know what was in there. I thought we was just s’posed to be extra nice to her or sumfin’. Didn’t know nuffin’.” He smirked, knowing they couldn’t use that to charge him with anything.

But they could use it against Florienne. Halise turned to Alistair. “Mayor Theirin, would you be comfortable having your people coordinate with Prime Minister Valmont’s security team to apprehend Florienne de Chalons until Denerim PD arrives to take her into custody?”

He beamed at her, the excitement of the moment too much for him to bear with a stone face. “Absolutely. Gentlemen.” He looked to his security guards. “You heard Ms. Lavellan. Contact Prime Minister Valmont’s security personnel and take her assistant into custody.” Three of the men hopped to, leaving one behind with their charge. “And we’ll be sure to have this man escorted off the premises.”

“Thank you.” Halise smiled, cognizant as she was of Cullen watching her.

“No, thank _you_. And I beg of you all, please try to enjoy the rest of your evening. This nasty business is well in hand, and I’d hate for you to lose the opportunity to dance with your partner, Mr. Rutherford.” Alistair looked over Halise’s shoulder at Cullen, and her eyes followed.

Cullen stood tall—a soldier’s posture—eyes locked with the Mayor’s in a war of gazes. Unblinking, he replied, “Thank you, Mayor Theirin, for all your assistance tonight.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” The cheek in Alistair’s tone brought a furious blush up Halise’s face.

“Okay, Cullen,” she said, sweeping past a chortling Sera to get to him, “I think the Mayor is right. We should try and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the night.”

Cullen laced his fingers with hers, still staring at Alistair, and followed her back out of the kitchen door. Sera and Bull stayed behind with the Red Templar, undoubtedly with more questions to ask him than were appropriate in the presence of the two prosecutors. Halise ran her thumb across Cullen’s knuckles in a vain attempt to soothe him.

“I wish he hadn’t said that,” he grumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. It was too far and—”

“Not that.” His eyes had softened considerably by the time he looked at her. “What he said about dancing.”

“About dancing?” Her brows lifted.

He sighed, disappointment dropping his shoulders. “I’d been planning to ask you all evening, but now that he said that I’m afraid you’ll just think I only came up with it because of _him_.”

“You want to dance with me?” Her fingertips landed on her chest, incredulity overtaking her voice. “I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“I don’t. But I wanted the chance to finally make it up to you.” A gentle smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand to graze her neck, his touch a thing of delicate grace. It would have surprised her had she not known him so well. So often he’d treated her like a priceless treasure to be handled with only the utmost care.

Halise smiled back at him. “Well, I’d still be happy to let you.”

Her favorite song of Maryden’s happened to be starting as Cullen led her out onto the dancefloor. Synthetic, ethereal sounds played over the speakers before Maryden began to play. Cullen and Halise swayed slowly, at first, but he found his footing as the tempo rose with the addition of the string quartet. It wasn’t long before they were spinning around the dancefloor, their bodies moving in a cool, smooth unison. They flowed like water together, smiling and laughing and never taking their eyes off each other. His hand had started at her side, but slipped behind her back after only a few steps, pressing her to him. Her hand had started at his shoulder, though she’d wrapped her arm around his neck well before the song ended. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to speak.

Halise had loved to dance since she was a little girl, but it never felt like this. It always felt natural, but it never felt like breathing.

As the song ended, she realized she wanted to hold him, to keep him close to her, to touch him. She couldn’t do that at the gala. Pulling Cullen down and herself up, she let her cheek rest against his and whispered, “I’m going to find Vivienne and get my purse back. Wait for me by the door. I want you to finish what you started.”

His low growl was all the answer she needed.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew!!! That was a long one! I hope you didn't mind, but I'd promised myself I would wrap up the gala in this chapter. I also hope it was consistent throughout, since I wrote it sporadically over a month.
> 
> The two songs I referenced were "Petricor" and "Night," both by Ludovico Einaudi, which you can still listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8xeStLTnhM) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9NM-yK1C2I). I've loved Mr. Einaudi's music for YEARS because classical piano with a little something else blended in to create a wonderful composition is always fantastic. Even if you don't listen to him for this fic, I highly encourage you to check him out. His music is great to write to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, kudos/comments/con-crit are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Come on over to my [tumblr](kaoruyogi.tumblr.com) and talk it up with me if you'd like!


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